


Things Left Unsaid

by Emospritelet



Series: Tell Me True [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Violence, Divorce, F/M, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Floor Sex, Friends to Lovers, Hair-pulling, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Organized Crime, Past Abuse, Smut, Unplanned Pregnancy, Wall Sex, fighting then fucking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2019-07-05 20:22:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 53,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15871071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emospritelet/pseuds/Emospritelet
Summary: Detective Weaver took in homeless Lacey French to save her from a life on the streets.  A one-night stand results in an unplanned pregnancy and a hasty marriage.  Four years later, things aren't going so well, and Lacey has a secret.Winner of Best Woven Lace Fic in The Espenson Awards 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @thatravenclawbitch prompted me Woven Lace going through a divorce, so we all have to suffer. Blame her :D
> 
> Okay, so you know the drill - this is gonna get worse before it gets better, but there'll be hot smut to get you through. Probably around chapter 3 or 4.

He was late.

Weaver swore under his breath as he mounted the stairs, headed for the third floor apartment which had once been his alone, and, for all too brief a time, theirs together.  He had moved out three months ago, renting a one-bed in a worse part of town, and filling his days and nights with as much work as he could to take his mind off the fact that his life was going down the fucking toilet along with his marriage.

Looking back he wondered how the hell they had ever gotten together in the first place.  It wasn’t as though he had been anything to look at, just another middle-aged detective who worked too much, drank too much and got bugger-all sleep.  And then she had come crashing into his life, a force of nature with the face of an angel, a foul mouth and a caring nature that she tried her best to hide.  It had almost felt like a dream.  One that, in the deep depths of his heart, he knew he didn’t want to wake from.

He reached the apartment, knocking on the door as he caught his breath.  The chain rattled, and Lacey peered out, one blue eye looking at him through the gap a little fearfully.  She closed the door without a word, taking off the chain, and opened it up.

“You’re late,” she said.

“I know.”  He stepped inside, running a hand through his hair.  “I’m sorry.”

“You always are,” she said, her tone flat.

She had folded her arms around herself protectively, just as she had when they first met four years earlier, her hair swept up on top of her head.  She was tugging at her lower lip with her teeth in that way she had, looking thin and pale and fragile.  He wished he could make it better.  He wished he could have made her happy.

“Can I see her?” he asked, and Lacey sighed.

“Look, I just got her down,” she said.  “You were supposed to be here an hour ago.”

“I know, I know.”  He ran his hands over his face.  “There was a murder, I got called out.”

“Would leaving on time for a fucking change have made this person more dead?” she asked dryly.

“I lost track of time,” he said evenly, and she shrugged, turning away from him.

“You want a drink?” she asked.  “I had a glass of wine with dinner.  There’s plenty left.”

“Alright.”

He watched her go to the kitchen, hips swaying, her shoulders tense.  There was the sound of a cupboard opening and closing, and then he heard the pop of a cork and the glug of pouring liquid.  She came back into view, long legs in black stockings and high-heeled shoes, a hint of cleavage showing in the tight dress she was wearing.  It made him want to fucking cry, she looked so perfect.

“You look very nice,” he ventured.  Hesitantly, feeling as though the words were being dragged from him, raking painful scratches in his soul, he added: “who’s your date?”

“I don’t have a date.”

“But you’re going out,” he said.

“Yeah,” she said abruptly.  “Work.”

“Since when?”

“Since I started back at the Rabbit Hole, that’s when.”

His eyes widened.

“Lacey, I—”

“Don’t ‘Lacey’ me!” she snapped, red wine sloshing in the glasses she held. “It’s something I can do, okay?”

She thrust a drink at him, and he took it, taking a sip to give his hands something to do while she hid behind her own glass, blue eyes watching him over the rim.

“How long has this been going on?”

“A week.”

“And Tilly?”

Lacey sighed.

“She has sleepovers with Henry,” she said.  “Roni’s there, it’s fine.”  

“But I thought I was giving you enough,” he protested.  “You said you were going back to school.  What happened?”

“I don’t know.”  She shrugged.  “Guess I realised I was kidding myself.  People don’t change, right?”

She took a slurp of wine, not really looking at him, her body turned away from him a little.  He remembered how things used to be, when they had broken a chair fucking each other into a frenzy.  When he had lifted her up on the kitchen table and let the dinner burn as she screamed in pleasure.  When he had peeled the clothes from her and laid her down in the bed and spent hours making her come.  God, he missed her!

Lacey was watching him out of the corner of her eye, still chewing at her lip, and he wanted to kiss her, to take that lip between his own and taste her on his tongue again.  A ridiculous idea, of course, and he took another sip of wine.  She seemed to be thinking about something, and all at once she shook her head, setting down her glass and crossing to the couch where her purse sat.  She reached in, pulling out a thick envelope of papers, and held them out to him.

“They came today,” she said.  “We’re supposed to sign.”

Weaver eyed the envelope as though it contained a snake.  Divorce papers. The final piece of the pathetic puzzle he had been making since he met her. Lacey’s lower lip was trembling a little, but she lifted her chin, shaking the papers at him.

“Just take them, would you?” she whispered.

The paper felt alien to him, smooth as the skin of a snake, heavier than they ought to be, and he tightened his grip around them as they left her fingers, a dead weight, hanging between them like so many things they had left unsaid, undone.  God, it fucking hurt.

“It’s what you wanted, right?” she said

_No.  No, it was never what I wanted.  It was what you needed._

He gave her a curt nod, squeezing all his feelings into a ball inside his chest and shoving them down into the pit of his stomach.

“I’ll look them over,” he said, his voice ringing in his ears, echoing around him.

Lacey nodded, clutching her purse to her belly, her eyes wide and sparkling, as though she was about to cry.

“Right,” she whispered.  “Well, I’d better go, then.”

He stared at the papers in his hand, the sounds she made barely registering: the soft noise of her drawing on a coat, the jingle of keys.

“I’ll - uh - I’ll be back around two,” she said, and he looked up as she gestured to the apartment.  “Make yourself—”

“—at home?” he finished, his tone wry.  “A little late for that, isn’t it?”

She pressed her lips together, holding his gaze for a moment, and then looked away, dashing at her cheek with her thumb.

“See you later,” she muttered, and then she was gone, out of his life once more with a click of the lock and the scent of her perfume and the dull pain of heartbreak in his chest.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @rowofstars, @rufeepeach and @thatravenclawbitch declared an angst war, so I'm picking up the gauntlet.

The apartment was very quiet when she had gone, the only sound a hollow sort of ticking from the clock on the wall.  Ticking away the last remaining moments of whatever it was they had.  Weaver felt drained, far wearier than a twelve-hour day should have left him, and he took his wine and sat down on the couch, opening up the papers she had given him.  He couldn’t take it all in, and had to read them through three times.  It was all there.  Everything she had asked for.  Everything he had agreed to without question.  A sum of money each month.  Visitation rights to his daughter, right down to where she would be each Christmas, all set out in cold black ink in an emotionless series of numbered paragraphs.  Rows of dotted lines beneath, waiting for their signatures, their agreement.  Waiting for them to make their separation permanent, make it real.  He licked his lips, tears pricking at his eyes, and tossed the papers aside.

“Daddy?”

Tilly had shuffled into the room, rubbing an eye with a small fist and dragging the somewhat bedraggled red plush dragon she carried everywhere with her. She blinked at him sleepily, light brown curls just brushing the shoulders of her PJs.

“Hey, sweetheart!” he said gently.  “What are you doing up?”

“Bad,” she mumbled, and yawned as he reached for her, pulling her onto his lap and kissing her soft hair.

“A bad dream?” he asked.  “Why don’t you tell me about it, and I’ll see if I can help?”

“Bad man made Mummy cry,” she said, in a tiny voice, and he hugged her close, inhaling the scent of baby shampoo.

_Oh God, has she been crying again?  Did I make her cry?_

“Well,” he said quietly.  “You know Daddy chases bad men for a living, right?”

Tilly looked up at him with wide, dark eyes.  She had Lacey’s features, but his brown eyes and slightly pointed ears, and he had fallen in love with her the moment she was born.  It was hard to be sure at the age of three, but he suspected she would have Lacey’s stubbornness, as well.  Her spirit.

“Yes,” she said stoutly, lower lip protruding.  “Daddy catches bad men!”

“That’s right,” he agreed.  “So if any bad men come here, what will happen to them?”

“Go to  _jail_!” she said excitedly, bouncing on his lap, and he grinned.

“Absolutely they will,” he assured her.  “I won’t let any bad men hurt you or Mummy, sweetheart.  I promise.”

She seemed satisfied with that, and nestled against his chest, putting her thumb in her mouth.  Weaver kissed the top of her head again, feeling her relax against him as she drifted into sleep.  He remembered all the times he had held her close, when he and Lacey were together, curled in bed on a Sunday morning with coffee steaming on the nightstand and rain lashing against the windows.  It seemed a lifetime ago.

He let her sleep for half an hour, her warmth and presence comforting his tortured soul, and then gently picked her up, carrying her through to the little room they had painted for her, the walls lilac and pale blue, a rotating night light sending stars and moons and unicorns around the room in a pale pink light.  Tilly sighed as he tucked her in with her toy dragon, and he bent to kiss her forehead.

“Sleep well, my darling,” he whispered, and sneaked out again, leaving her door ajar and settling himself back on the couch.

He tried looking at the divorce papers again, but it was too fucking depressing, so he set them on the coffee table and turned on the news, watching the headlines and seeing nothing.  He had finished his wine, but he didn’t bother with a second glass.  Lacey had said she would be home around two, and he sat upright on the edge of the couch, drinking coffee in a bid to stay alert at the end of a day that had started before the sun was up.  It was probably his fifteenth cup since rising, and he was wired and jittery.  When they were together, Lacey had got him to cut down to four, but since he had started living alone again he had fallen back into his old ways.  Too much coffee and whisky and not enough decent food.  He had to do something about it.  Tilly deserved better than a fucking screw-up for a father.

The time crawled, and after half an hour or so he decided to check in at work. That was something else she had cured him off when he was off duty, but what the hell else did he have to do these days?  There had been no developments in the murder case, and Detective Fa told him in no uncertain terms to fuck off and get some rest.  Scowling in frustration, he shoved his phone back in his pocket and paced the room, eyeing the books stacked carefully on the shelves before realising he didn’t have the energy or the patience to concentrate on anything.

He wondered why Lacey had really decided to return to the  _Rabbit Hole_.  He didn’t believe for a moment that she needed the money.  Not that desperately, anyway.  Not enough to go back to the place she despised and the boss she loathed.  He had known her for three weeks when he had first seen the bruises on her arms, and when he had the truth out of her, she was moved into his apartment, and that walking ballsack Garrett was charged with assault.  She couldn’t possibly have gone back there willingly.  He was agitated, pacing back and forth, and stopped abruptly, running his hands over his face as he tried to calm himself.  No point in working himself up over anything when he had to wait for her to get back.  

By the time he heard her key in the door, his nerves were close to breaking point, and he took three long breaths to calm himself, relief at her return almost overwhelming.  Lacey eyed him briefly above the scarf wound around her chin to keep out the bitter cold, nodding a greeting and turning to close the door behind her.  He watched her walk to the kitchen, her head bowed, chin tucked lower in the scarf as she rooted in her bag for something.

“She okay?” she asked, as she flicked on the kitchen light.

“Woke up once,” he said.  “Bad dream.  She’s alright.”

“Good.”

He followed her through, closing the kitchen door behind him, and found her standing at the counter with her back to him.  She shrugged out of her coat, dropping it on the counter, but didn’t take off the scarf.

“How was your night?” he asked evenly, and Lacey shrugged.

“Well, it’s over,” she said dryly.  “So there’s that.”

Weaver sighed.

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this.”

“It’s my business if I choose to get a job, alright?” she said stiffly.

“Of course it’s your bloody business!” he snapped.  “This isn’t about you bloody working, it’s about you working  _there_!  Last time you set foot in that fucking place I had to arrest your bloody boss!”

She shifted uncomfortably.

“Yeah, well, that was then,” she muttered.

“And now?”

Lacey didn’t answer, leaning on the counter with both hands, her shoulders rising up, her head down.  Her hair shone in the light, copper highlights gleaming.

“I need the money,” she whispered.

“If you need money all you have to do is ask!” he insisted.  “I thought we’d worked all this out!  The bloody divorce papers seem to have it all sewn up.”

“I don’t want anything more from you,” she said automatically.  “No more than you agreed, okay?  I want - I want to do things myself.”

“And that includes going back to a place where you were fucking miserable?”

“It includes finding someone who’ll hire me for a job I can actually  _do_ ,” she said, still not looking at him.  “I’m a pragmatist, Rafe!  I know what I can do and - and I know what I can’t.  I’m moving forward, and so should you.”

“ _Moving forward_ ,” he said, with a sneer.  “You’re not bloody  _moving forward_ , Lacey, you’re regressing!  This is you from  _four years ago_ , for fuck’s sake!”

“What, you thought you could take the street kid who skipped school from the time she was thirteen and turn her into a fucking  _functional human being_?” she snapped.  “Who were you kidding?  Huh?  Not me, that’s for sure!”

“Will you stop acting as though your life is over because you made a few wrong choices when your back was against the fucking wall!” he said sharply. “You’re better than that!”

She shook her head, still not looking at him, and it was like a knife in the chest, a finger of ice in his heart.  Had she grown to despise him, the man twice her age who had gotten her pregnant in a moment of utter stupidity?  The man she had been trapped with?  Could she not bear to see him?  God, he didn’t want her to hate him.  He had never wanted that.

“Thanks for coming over,” she said, her voice brittle.  “You can see yourself out, right?”

He turned away, the shard of ice twisting, hurting, but turned back to try again, running a hand through his hair.

“Look - Lacey,” he said wearily.  “I don’t want to fight, okay?  Can we - can we not, please?  I don’t want this to be our default setting.  It never used to be.”

She was silent for a moment, but he saw her shake her head.

“No,” she said.  “No, it didn’t.  I don’t want to fight, either.  I don’t.”

“Right,” he said, more calmly.  “Good.  Then maybe things can be different.  Maybe we can - can get along.  We always  _did_  get along - I don’t know when things changed.  Was it me?”

“No,” she whispered.  “No, it wasn’t you.”

More silence.  He tried to think of what to say to break it, but Lacey shifted, turning her head slightly, so that he could see the pale curve of her cheek, the dark curl of her lashes.

“You were good to me,” she said quietly.  “You’ve always been good to me.  You took in the girl you knocked up when you could have just paid me off.  You tried, I know that.  I know it wasn’t what you wanted.”

_How can you possibly know what I wanted?  I never told you, after all.  I never told you how I really felt._

“And you?” he asked quietly.  “What did you want?”

“Safety,” she said immediately.  “A safe place, for me and my baby.  That’s all. I never expected this.  I never thought you’d marry me.  I didn’t ask for it.”

“You didn’t have to,” he said wearily.  “And you didn’t trap me or trick me or anything else, Lacey, for God’s sake.  If I had to do it all over again I would.”

“Why?”

_Because I love you.  Because I want you.  Because you excite me just by being in the same fucking room.  Because I could drown in your eyes and your soul and your beauty and count myself lucky._

“Because it was the right thing to do.”

“The  _right thing_ ,” she echoed flatly.  “Yeah, well, I’m doing the right thing now, okay?”

“By working for that - that  _creep_?”

She turned away again with a sigh, her hair hiding the curve of her cheek once more, and a needle of suspicion sank into him, stabbing at his brain.

“Lacey,” he said evenly.  “Will you look at me, please?”

A slight stiffening of her body, an involuntary twitch.  He had been watching for it, and he nodded grimly.

“Look at me,” he said sternly.

“Please,” she said, her voice shaking.  “Please go.”

It took him two strides to reach her, but Lacey turned before he could touch her, chin raised defiantly, eyes flashing at him above a large, purple swelling on her jaw where the scarf had fallen down.  She was biting her lower lip to stop it from trembling, and he felt rage burst within him.

“Right,” he said softly.  “I’ll fucking kill him.”

“Don’t - don’t do anything stupid…” she said wearily.

He turned on his heel, anger boiling inside him.

“Rafe, for God’s sake—”

He wrenched open the kitchen door, striding to the lounge and snagging his jacket from the couch on his way to the door.   _Dead.  He’s a fucking dead man._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said the smut would be around chapter 3 or 4, didn't I? Turns out it's gonna be both.

It had started to rain again, and Weaver turned up the collar of his jacket to keep the worst of it from going down his back, raindrops drumming against his shoulders and the top of his head.  He walked swiftly, taking the back-alley route to the bar where Lacey had worked for a brief time when he had first known her. _The Rabbit Hole_ was a dump, in his opinion: a fetid two-room bar that attracted the worst that Seattle could boast.  He had been part of several raids on the place over the years, arresting drug dealers, bottom-tier organised crime lowlifes and, on one occasion, a developing people-trafficking operation.  It was the kind of establishment where one could pay for a week of drug-fuelled oblivion or take out a hit on someone, and no one drinking in there would bat an eyelid. In short, it was the last place he wanted Lacey to set foot in.

The guy who ran the place had a record of petty crimes and misdemeanours as long as any he’d seen, but as far as Weaver knew he had never been implicated in anything major.  Garrett was a thug: lumbering, dark-haired and what was no doubt considered good-looking, but a thug nonetheless. A wannabe gangster who had neither the balls nor the intelligence to make a go of things, so relied on the strength and cunning of others to make his way.  Scum, and Weaver had put him in jail on several occasions. He’d put him in the hospital once, too, and Lacey’s bruises pretty much guaranteed that would be happening again.

The bar was empty when he got there, apart from Garrett, leaning on the bar with a glass of beer in front of him and a silent, dark-haired man mopping the floor by the pool table.  The cleaner took one look at Weaver and walked quickly through to the back. Weaver watched him go with narrowed eyes, but then turned his attention to the man at the bar, and walked over, flexing his hands.  Garrett smirked at him.

“Well, if it isn’t Detective Weaver, scourge of the underworld,” he drawled, leaning back from the bar.  “You’re wasting your time here. Clean as a whistle, I promise you. No one deals drugs in the men’s room anymore, not since the last time you tore the place apart.  Decided I don’t like troublemakers.”

“Oh, I’m not here about your clientèle,” said Weaver.  “I’m here about Lacey. I hear she’s been working for you.”

Garrett eyed him for a moment, then shrugged, picking up his glass and taking a gulp.

“She does a few shifts, yeah,” he said.  “Guys spend more money if there’s a nice piece of ass serving them, you know?”

Weaver’s anger, burning white-hot like erupting lava when he left her apartment, had lowered to a seething, roiling pool of liquid fire, a deep orange glow in the depths of his belly.  He was mentally tallying everything offensive the man said and did. Keeping score for when the time came.

“I find it hard to believe she’d return here after four years,” he said, his voice calm.  “So I want to know what it is you’re holding over her.”

“Who says I’m holding anything?”

“Call it a hunch,” he said evenly.

Garrett rolled his eyes.

“Look, she says you broke up,” he said, in a bored voice.  “Why do you care?”

“She’s still my wife.”

“Yeah, so I heard,” Garrett grinned, showing white teeth.  “Tricked you into knocking her up, did she? Gotta say, _that_ was the opposite of a shocker.  The vice cop and the cheap whore—”

Rage was needling him, a tingle of fire caressing his brain and filling his body with heat that wanted to flare out and burn the man to ash in front of him.

“—although I’m surprised you married her,” Garrett went on.  “You should have just paid the bitch to get rid of the kid. Turned you soft, did she?”

Weaver smiled, baring his teeth, before grabbing a handful of the man’s hair and shoving his face down onto the bar with a crunching of bone and glass and a splash of cheap beer.  Garrett screamed in pain, and Weaver yanked him upright again, blood pouring from his nose as he staggered back. Slivers of broken glass were stuck into his cheeks and forehead, and Weaver tightened his grip on Garrett’s hair, twisting it as he leaned in close.

“Soft enough for you, fuckface?” he hissed.

“You _bastard_!”

“Oh, I’m just getting started!” he rasped.  “Please, talk about my wife some more. Let’s see how many of your bones I can break before you learn to shut the fuck up!”

“This is police brutality!”  Garrett had grabbed his nose with both hands, blood pouring over his fingers and pieces of glass tinkling to the bar as they fell.

“You got that right.”  Weaver reached between his legs, grasping his balls and squeezing, and Garrett rose up on his toes with a high-pitched whine.  “And if you ever, _ever_ lay a hand on Lacey again, I’m gonna cut your fucking balls off and fucking feed them to you, do you understand?”

He let go, lip curling in disgust as Garrett dropped like a stone, and headed for the door, hearing the strangled groan from behind him.   _She’s not fucking going back there.  I don’t fucking care if she chews me out over it._

“Not my fault!”

Garrett’s voice was a hoarse whisper, and Weaver sighed, rolling his eyes.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he demanded, turning on his heels.

“Wasn’t me, okay?”

Weaver hesitated, then walked slowly back to where Garrett was lying with his hands jammed between his legs, his face still covered in blood, eyes squinting.

“Alright, he said evenly.  “Who was it?”

Garrett was silent, and Weaver leaned in close, lips drawing up over his teeth in a snarl.

“Did I not almost kill you enough?”

Garrett shook his head vehemently, eyes wide, and Weaver straightened up, stepping back.  He’d seen that sort of look before. The look that said that to talk was more than the person’s life was worth.  What the hell had she gotten herself into?

Swearing under his breath, he headed for the door.  The rain was falling harder, and he moved quickly through the silent backstreets, threading his way past fire escapes and dumpsters, eyes flicking back and forth as shadows shifted in the glow from the nearby streetlights.  It was a relief to get back into the apartment building, and he shook the water from himself, running a hand through his hair as he took the stairs two at a time. Lacey answered the door almost immediately at his knock. It looked as though she had taken a shower, her hair damp and shining and a robe on over loose black pants and a lace-trimmed vest.  Her eyes were wide and frightened, but she relaxed a little when she saw him, and his mouth set in a thin line. _She was scared when I came to the door earlier, and I didn’t fucking think anything of it._

He nodded to her curtly, and pushed past, heading for the kitchen.  Lacey locked the door, following him through and shutting the kitchen door behind her.  He had crossed to the sink to wash the blood from his hands, and could feel her watching him.

“What did you do?” she asked warily.

“Broke his fucking nose,” snapped Weaver.  “What did you think would happen?”

“Jesus…”

He smiled without humour, rinsing quickly and turning off the water.

“Yeah, interestingly enough, he claims not to be the one that hit you.”  He dried his hands on a dish towel, turning to face her. “Even more interestingly, I actually believe the wanker.  So who was it?”

Lacey had pressed herself against the door, fingers spread, her eyes as wide and scared as Garrett’s had been.  He tossed the dish towel aside, stepping forward.

“Lacey,” he said sharply.  “Who hit you?”

She shook her head.

“For fuck’s sake, would you just tell me?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it fucking matters!” he snapped.  “If someone’s threatening you I need to know about it.  You’re here alone with Tilly, for God’s sake!”

“You seriously think I’d put her in danger?” she demanded, hands on hips.  “I’d _never_ do that!”

“But you’d put yourself in danger?” he countered.  “You think your safety doesn’t matter, is that it?”

She glowered at him, and he ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.

“Don’t tell me we’re going down this road again,” he said  “I thought we got past all that! I don’t want to hear a single fucking thing about how you deserved it, alright?”

He waited for her to speak, and when she didn’t, he took another step forward.

“Who did it?”

“I can’t tell you!” she blurted.

“What do you mean, you can’t tell me?” he demanded.  “Can’t or won’t?”

Lacey bit her lip, her eyes huge, brimming with tears, and he shook his head.

“Are you in trouble?”

She shook her head mutely.

“Are you lying to me?”

“Please,” she whispered.  “Please, just leave it. I’ll handle it, I promise.”

Weaver ran his hands over his face, trying to calm himself.

“Alright,” he said quietly.  “You said you need money. How much?”

“I told you, I don’t want anything more from you.”

“Would you stop that?” he said sharply.  “If you’re in trouble, I want to help. You’re still my wife.”

“Not if you sign the damn papers like I asked instead of fucking _interrogating_ me!” she spat.

He reached forward, hands splayed on the wall to either side of her, leaning in close until his forehead almost brushed hers, and Lacey licked her lips somewhat nervously.  She met his eyes with her chin raised and chest heaving, cold and distant and beautiful. She was trying to make him angry, he could feel it. Trying to make him storm out. He wished he knew why, but he doubted she would tell him, and so he took his frustration and anger and pushed it down into his belly, a low, burning pain.  Lacey was watching him, her lips full and shining from the swift pass of her tongue, her breath cool on his skin. Her eyes flicked to his mouth and back up, and he shoved away the rush of desire he felt, the urge to kiss her. Not the time. Would never be the time again, he imagined. Fuck, he missed her!

“I’m trying to help you,” he said evenly.

“You always are,” she said, her voice trembling a little.  “You always _have_ , and I can’t stand it anymore, okay?  I don’t - I don’t _need_ your help!  I don’t need anything from you.”

He felt her hands at his waist, thumbs resting on his belt beneath the edge of the leather jacket.  Desire was rising in him, the product of three months of bewilderment and loneliness after she asked him to leave, three months of longing to touch her and holding back.  This was the closest they had been in all that time, and he touched his forehead to hers, hearing a sharp intake of breath from her, her fingers sliding up his sides a little.

“Don’t you?” he growled.

Her breathing had quickened, her chest rising and falling beneath the vest she wore, and his nose brushed hers, his heart thudding in his chest.  He could feel the tension between them, static in the air making his hair lift and his skin tingle, and Lacey angled her head a little, letting her nose brush against his again.  Her eyes had flicked up to meet his, her pupils wide and dark, and he could feel himself begin to swell in his jeans, need for her burning through him. He should go, before she could tell him to leave.  Before she could push him away and break his heart all over again. He should really, really go.

Lacey kissed him messily, her mouth hot and hungry, her lips pushing his apart, and he let out a low groan of pleasure at the taste of her, one hand sinking into her hair, his body pressing against hers as her hands slid around him.  His tongue pushed into her mouth, and she let out a tiny moan, hands slipping out from around him, pushing at his jacket, dragging it from his shoulders. He pushed back from her, breaking the kiss, and let his arms fall, the jacket slipping to the floor.  Lacey was tugging at his belt, her breathing ragged as she got it open, and he kissed her again, groaning as her hands slid up his chest and into his hair, twisting and tugging as his tongue stroked hers.

His hands cupped her, her breasts firm in his palms, and he pulled his mouth from hers and kissed down her throat, tongue swirling over her skin.  Lacey let her head roll back with a moan as he bit down, and he reached up, pushing beneath the shoulders of her robe and pulling it down her arms.  She let it fall, and he slipped his thumbs beneath the straps of her vest, tugging it down, baring her breasts for his mouth. Her nipples were hard and dark, and he sucked one in between his lips, feeling her fingers scrape his scalp, sending shivers through him.

His hands slid down her sides, thumbs hooking beneath the waistband of her pants and pushing them over her hips.  They fell around her ankles, and Lacey lifted one pale leg after the other, stepping out of them. He kissed lower, sliding to his knees, his mouth trailing over her belly, and she inhaled sharply as his hands pushed her thighs apart.  He could smell the scent of her, the faint smell of herbal shower gel still on her skin, the heady musk of arousal drifting into his nose. His lips sucked at the soft flesh of her mound, and Lacey let out a moan as his fingers slid upwards, splaying against her thighs, his thumbs gently parting her folds as he put his mouth to her.

She let out a low cry at the touch of his tongue, and he swept it through her hot flesh, tasting salt.  Her fingers twisted in his hair, her body undulating as he licked her. It was so good to taste her again, to bury his face in the heat and scent of her.  He wanted to take her to bed and spend all night with her, as he had on many an occasion before she had decided it was over. He wanted to slide inside her and feel her come all around him, to swallow her moan of pleasure when they kissed, to have her rake furrows in his shoulders and leave bite marks on his chest.

His hands dipped between her legs and slid up behind to grasp her rear, squeezing, pulling her tight against him as his tongue stabbed and swirled.  Lacey groaned, and he pushed at her thigh with one arm, her leg lifting and sliding over his shoulder, allowing him to devour her. He could hear her breath coming hard in her chest, almost whistling, tiny whimpers coming from her, and he scraped the flat of his tongue over her clit, feeling the hardness of it, making her jerk against his mouth.  Her nails scratched his scalp as she let out a moan, and he growled low in his throat, feeling her body tense, knowing she was close.

She came with a cry, her hips bucking, and his fingers dug into the soft flesh of her rear as he groaned in pleasure.  Hot fluid bathed his tongue, and he licked it from her, spreading her scent on his skin as he tasted her. Her legs were trembling, and he let her find her feet again, pressing kisses to her wet flesh before sitting back on his heels and rising up.  Lacey was breathing hard, her body leaning back against the wall, head hanging, and he slipped a finger under her chin, raising her head to face him and kissing her hard. She grasped at his shirt, tugging him close with a moan, and he reached between her legs, fingers stroking over soft folds slippery with his saliva.  He slid two fingers inside her, growling at the feel of her, hot and silky-wet, and Lacey let her head roll back against the wall with a dull thud, her fingers scrabbling at the buttons of his shirt. She got it open, and he let his fingers slip from her, shrugging it off and leaving himself in vest and jeans, a thick chain of silver links she had bought him around his wrist, matching the one around his neck.  Lacey ran her eyes over him, her lips full and wet from their kisses, her chest heaving. She caught his eyes with hers, and licked her lips.

“Bed!” she whispered.

She kissed him again, her tongue pushing into his mouth, her nails scoring him through the vest as she raked them down his chest.  He growled at the sudden, sharp pain, grasping her wrists and pushing her back against the wall, pressing his body to hers. Lacey let out a cry as he sank his teeth into her neck, and he released her wrists, reaching between her legs again, his fingers pushing deep inside her, thumb rubbing over her clit.  She moaned, sliding her arms around him, and he licked up her neck, his mouth finding hers as his fingers thrust inside her, hard and fast, his thumb flicking and circling. She came again with tiny, desperate moans, her body soft against his, her cheeks flushed and damp, and he let his fingers slide out of her, slippery with her juices.

She was breathless, her lips wet and soft, the same deep pink as her sex.  Her eyes flickered open, and he held her gaze as he slipped his fingers into his mouth, sucking her cum from them.  Lacey licked her lips, swallowing hard.

“Bed,” she said again.  “Take me to bed.”

He bent, sliding an arm behind her thighs and swinging her up into his arms, and Lacey twined her arms around his neck, pressing hungry kisses along his jaw as he wrenched open the kitchen door and carried her to the bedroom.  It would solve nothing, he knew that. It wasn’t as though taking her to bed and fucking her hard would make things better between them. But there again he had had a lifetime of making things worse, and he had missed her so much it hurt.  If it all blew up in his face, at least he would have one last night with her.  At least they could have this.


	4. Chapter 4

Lacey tried to catch her breath as she bounced on the bed, hands splaying out to steady herself, and Weaver shut the bedroom door behind him, bending to unlace his boots and kick them off.  The black top she had been wearing was bunched around her waist, and so she peeled it off and tossed it aside, lying back against the pillows naked. It would be the first time they had had sex in over three months, and she was desperate for his touch, to feel him on top of her, his familiar weight pressing down on her as he pushed deep.  The very thought of it made her breathing quicken, and she licked her lips as she watched him unfasten his jeans, the firm muscles of his chest pushing out the vest he wore, light glinting on the thick chain around his neck.

She reached for him, and he climbed onto the bed, his mouth finding hers as he pushed her onto her back.  His kisses were hard and hungry, feeling as desperate as she, and she slid her hands up his back beneath the vest, pushing it up beneath his arms, wanting to feel every bit of his skin against hers.  He groaned into her mouth, breaking the kiss as he knelt up to tug the vest over his head, the chain bouncing against his collar bones with a faint clink. He was hard, his cock tenting the front of his boxers, and she slipped her thumbs beneath the waistband, tugging them down over his hips.  She lay back as he wriggled out of them, his hands sliding up her thighs and pushing them apart as he turned back to her.

He was breathing hard, his chest heaving, but his eyes caught hers, dark with desire.  There was an unspoken question in them, and it made her want to cry. Even now, he would take nothing from her that she didn’t wholeheartedly want to give him.  He was a good man, whether he believed it or not. A truly good man. Far better than she had ever deserved. She nodded curtly, and he slipped a hand between her legs, fingers stroking against soft folds of flesh as he felt how wet she was.  A low growl of pleasure rumbled out of him, vibrating through her body and making her moan with need.  Two fingers slipped inside her, pushing up to the knuckles, and she arched her back, hands sliding up his chest, thumbs rubbing over his nipples and making him gasp.

The fingers slid out of her with a slick, wet sound, and she could feel him take himself in hand, spreading her juices, pressing up against her.  He pushed slowly into her with a deep, guttural groan, and Lacey moaned, raising her body up to press against his, drawing up her knees to let him sink deep.  He was moving slowly, thrusting in and out of her, savouring the feel of her, but it wasn’t enough.  She wanted him to take her, hard and fast. She wanted him to _fuck_ her.  Lifting her hips, she pushed against him, quickening the pace, and he followed her lead, his cock hard inside her, his hands sliding up her body to cup her breasts. Lacey moaned, raising her head to draw her tongue up his neck to his ear.

“Harder,” she whispered, her breath blooming out, hot against her lips, against his skin.  “Fuck me harder!”

He growled in response, his hands sliding up her arms, grasping her wrists and pushing them down into the pillows, and she gasped as he slammed into her, grinding against her, the sensations beginning to build inside her as he thrust.  His teeth sank into her neck, his tongue sweeping over her skin to soothe the bite, swirling against her pulse point and sending shivers coursing through her. Sweat was forming between them, their skin slippery where her breasts pushed against his chest, and she bent her head to lick the perspiration from him, the flat of her tongue running over the taut peak of his nipple before sucking it into her mouth.

He let out a groan of pleasure, thrusting inside her, his cock thick and rigid, his limbs growing taut as the tension grew, as he worked towards climax.  She wrapped her legs around him, holding him tight, and he released one of her wrists, arm sliding down between them and hooking behind her knee to pull it higher.  Lacey let out a cry as he thrust deep into her, the feel of it almost painful, the head of his cock rubbing against her.

 _“Fuck!”_ he gasped, his jaw tight with the strain of it.

She moaned, fingers pushing into his hair, nails scraping his scalp as he rocked against her.  His movements were small now, as though he couldn’t bear to pull out of her even an inch, his hips twitching as he increased the pace.  It felt incredible, his cock buried deep within her, nothing between them but heat and wetness and the coarse feel of his hair against her clit.  She could feel the sensations building, the wave of bliss rising up through her body, and she whimpered, eyes closed, hips bucking against him to increase the friction.  He was close, so close, and she wanted to fall with him, wanted him to take them both over the edge, as he had so many times.

He thrust into her with a low groan of pleasure, his cock pulsing, and Lacey pumped against him, crying out as she came, her flesh clenching hard and pulling hot seed from him, drawing it deep.  The blood was pounding in her head, her heart thumping as she moaned and writhed and clung to him, and he slipped and thrust and poured himself into her until he was spent and shaking. His head dropped, face pushing into the hollow between her neck and shoulder, his body heaving as he tried to catch his breath.  She held him tight, fingers stroking through damp hair, breathing in the scent of him, her skin tingling with the aftermath of her pleasure.

After a long moment he pushed up a little, sliding his arm out from beneath her leg and reaching up with both hands to cup her face.  Gentle fingers, still damp with her juices, brushed strands of hair from hot cheeks, and Lacey’s eyes fluttered open as he pressed his forehead to hers, his breath coming hard in his chest.  His eyes were dark and deep, and there was a tenderness in them that she could hardly bear to witness.  He was too good, and she hated that she was hurting him.

He didn’t say anything, for which she was grateful, just kissed her with soft, warm lips, his tongue sliding in to stroke against hers as he began to shrink inside her.  He was smiling a little as he pulled back, his brow pressing against hers once more, and then he slipped out of her, rolling off and spooning up behind her to press kisses along her shoulder.  Lacey hugged herself, as though by that motion she would keep a part of him with her, and his lips brushed her ear.

“I miss you,” he whispered, and she squeezed her eyes shut, tears stinging.

_I miss you too._

“I know I was the one who offered to give you some space,” he went on.  “And I meant it, Lacey, I did. Even if I didn’t understand why.  But I miss you.  I miss Tilly.”

_I know.  God, I never wanted to hurt you!  That’s the last thing I wanted!_

“I guess I don’t need to understand it,” he went on.  “I just want you to be happy. You and Tilly both. And if that means that you and I don’t have a future together, then - then that’s how things will be.”

There was silence for a moment.  She didn’t want to break it, but she could sense his pain and confusion, and it made her want to cry.

“I just—”  He cut off with a sigh, and pressed a kiss to her shoulder.  “I know there’s something going on. Something you don’t feel you can tell me.”

 _No no no no no!_ She wanted to shake her head, her heart thumping.  She needed him to leave. She needed him to go before she broke down crying in his arms and told him everything.  His fingers stroked against her skin, gentle and soothing, and she felt tears well in her eyes.

“Lacey…”  He hesitated, seemingly unsure of what to say.  “Look, would you talk to me? I can’t help if I don’t know what the problem is.”

“I don’t _want_ your help,” she said suddenly, almost wanting to jump at the sound of her own voice.  “How many times do I have to tell you? We broke up, remember?”

His hand tightened on her waist.

“Then will you tell me why I’m trying to get my bloody breath back after fucking you like it was my last night on earth?” he snapped, and she hunched her shoulders, drawing in on herself.

“Doesn’t mean anything,” she said.  “We both wanted it, and now it’s done.  You can go.”

As dismissive and hurtful as she had meant them to be, she hated the words as soon as they left her mouth, and he growled in anger, reaching up to grasp her shoulder and pull her onto her back to face him.

“What the hell has you too fucking scared to talk to me?” he demanded.  “Who is it?  Who’s threatening you?”

“No one,” she said obstinately.  “I told you, it’s nothing.”

“Yeah, well I’m telling _you_ that’s a fucking pile of old shite, and we both know it!” he spat.

His accent always thickened when he was angry, just as it did when he was aroused, and despite herself she could her need for him flare to life once more.  They had been apart too long, both trying for strained politeness for Tilly’s sake. Separation had been the only way she had thought she could be strong enough to do what she had to, and it had been a relief when he had tentatively suggested it.  She thought she might never forget the stricken look on his face when she agreed, and asked him to leave. It had been there a moment only before he had nodded and gone to pack some things, and she had managed to hold it together long enough to close the door behind him.  God, she had missed him!

“There doesn’t have to be some sinister motive, you know,” she said.  “Sometimes these things just don’t work out. Lots of marriages end. What makes us so special?  Not as though we had a bloody auspicious start, is it?”

“Stop trying to choke me with this fucking bullshit!” he growled.  “You start back at the Rabbit Hole out of the fucking blue?  Someone hits you and that fucking blowhard Garrett’s too scared to talk about it?  I’ve interviewed far better liars than you, Lacey!  You must think I spend all day with my head up my arse!”

He was glaring down at her, dark eyes flashing, and she raised her chin, meeting fire with fire.

“You think if you bang me hard enough, I’ll tell you what you want to hear?” she demanded.  “Interesting interrogation technique, Detective!”

“Would you stop that?” he snapped.  “You’re not a bloody witness, you’re my wife!”

“Yeah, well, I’ve told you it’s over!”

“Aye, really fucking looks like it!” he spat.  “Is this how we are now? Friends with fucking benefits or something?  I come over whenever you have an itch that needs scratching?”

“Didn’t hear you complaining,” she said sullenly.  “Got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

Weaver opened his mouth for what looked like an angry retort, but then closed it again, looking away and taking a deep breath, nostrils flaring.

“No,” he said, more calmly.  “What I want is for you to be honest with me.”

“Yeah, well, I want you to use that mouth to make me come!” she hissed.  “Just shut up and fuck me!”

His eyes widened in surprise, and she kissed him hungrily, hands sliding into his hair and pulling his head down on hers.  He groaned, tongue pushing into her mouth, hands sliding up to cup her breasts, and Lacey slid a hand down between them to grasp his cock, still sticky with her fluids and already starting to harden again. He began kissing down her neck, his tongue swirling over her skin as he wriggled lower, and she closed her eyes with a sigh, wanting as much of him as he could give her.  If this was to be their final time, she wanted it to last.

x

Lacey swam out of sleep, her body warm and loose and aching in the most wonderful of ways.  She smiled lazily, memories of the previous night filling her head and, for the briefest of moments, allowing her to forget her pain and loss and heartbreak.  She slid a hand across the mattress, reaching for her husband, but found only cold sheets. Eyes flicking open, she looked around the room, then pushed up on her hands into a sitting position.  She could hear a faint noise from the lounge: the television playing something cheerfully noisy, and so she slipped from the bed, sighing as she saw that it was just after seven. Pulling on a clean pair of PJs, she ran a hand through her tangled curls and went out into the lounge.

Tilly looked up from her position, cross-legged in front of the TV with Dragon on her lap.  There was no sign of Weaver, and Lacey felt her heart sink a little. She told herself firmly that it was for the best, and bent to kiss Tilly’s head.

“Hey, sweetie,” she said.  “You want some breakfast? I could make you pancakes.  Special treat, how about it?”

“I want Daddy to make them,” said Tilly.

“Oh.”  Lacey glanced around the empty apartment.  “Daddy had to go to work, okay baby?”

“Catching _bad_ men,” said Tilly decidedly, and Lacey smiled.

“Yeah,” she said.  “Your Daddy’s a hero, which means he’s very busy out there fighting crime, okay?  How about I make you the pancakes instead?”

“Daddy makes funny shapes,” said Tilly, eyeing her with what Lacey was sure was a heavy dose of doubt in her pancake-making skills.

“Well, I can try to do that,” she agreed.  “You want blueberries on ‘em?”

“Yeah!”

“Okay then.”

She went through to the kitchen, bending to pick up her discarded robe and the pants she had left behind.  She pulled on the robe, tugging it closed and looping the belt around her waist. Coffee. She’d feel better after some coffee.  She crossed to the sink to fill the kettle, flicking it on and reaching for the cups, and spied something out of the corner of her eye.  A thick sheaf of papers with a pen resting on top. Heart thumping, she reached out to them, fingers grasping the edge and pulling them towards her.  The divorce papers. She licked her lips nervously, flicking through them, and sank back on her heels as her heart felt as though it had fallen into her stomach, a cold, dull weight.  His signature was there, a looping scrawl of black ink on the crisp white page. Tears welled in her eyes, and she leaned on the counter, her head hanging. He had signed. He had given her what she had asked for.  Just as he always did.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case any of you were wondering how these two idiots ever ended up married - here's a flashback

_Three years and eight months earlier_

Seven-thirty in the evening, and already he’d had to deal with some idiot who thought that assaulting a police officer was a fucking stellar idea.  Weaver rubbed his knuckles to ease the ache in them, scowling as he thought of the paperwork he’d have to go through before Lieutenant Drake would be happy. He eyed the half-empty bottle of whisky in his desk drawer, briefly considered pouring himself one, and dismissed the idea almost immediately.  There were still two and a half hours until his shift was over. More if he got called out on something. Best to keep a clear head. Coffee would be better.

He slammed the drawer shut and flipped open one of the new files that had been dumped on his desk, curling his lip at the contents.  Reports of two black men seen hanging around the entrance to a youth centre. The person who had called it in suspected them of dealing drugs, and there were grainy photos provided.  Weaver didn’t need to look in detail at the pictures to know who the individuals were: two ex-gang members who called themselves Merlin and Lancelot. They ran basketball and martial arts programs for underprivileged kids, trying with some success to keep them away from the gang lifestyle that plagued some of the neighbourhoods.  Growling under his breath, he wrote _how many fucking times, these are the good guys!_ across the front of the file, and tossed it into the tray of cases to be processed.

“Weaver?”

A voice made him look up, and Detective Fa raised a slim black eyebrow at him.

“Visitor for you."

“Who is it?” he asked absently, opening the next file.

“Thought it might be one of your informants,” she said.  “Nervous and pretending not to be. Name of French. Said it’s urgent and she’ll only speak to you, or I would have dealt with it.  I put her in room two.”

“Thanks,” he said, a sinking feeling in his belly.   _French. Well. Could be coincidence, but I doubt it._

Fa had hurried off, and so he pushed back his chair, taking up a notebook and pencil out of habit and making his way to interview room two.  How long had it been since he had seen Lacey French?  Four months, perhaps? He had assumed she had left town long ago; she always had said that she didn’t like to stay in one place too long.

Lacey looked up as he entered the room, and he tried not to let any emotion show in his face.  He was used to that, after all. She was as beautiful as ever, but there was something else there.  An air of sadness, of hopelessness, darkening her blue eyes. She was bundled up against the winter night in a woollen pea coat, a scarf wound around her throat.  Her skirt was still ridiculously short, but she appeared to have swapped bare legs and high heels for thick tights and chunky boots, at least. She looked a little thinner around the face, and he tried to squash the sudden, overwhelming urge to take her home and feed her something that didn’t come from a dumpster.  That was how this entire farce had started, after all.

He pulled out a chair, sitting down opposite her, and dropping his pad and pencil on the table.  Lacey was fidgeting, plucking at the skin of one hand with her finger and thumb, teeth tugging at her lower lip.  She wouldn’t quite look at him, as though she were ashamed. Not like her at all. It was intriguing.

“Lacey,” he said calmly.  “I haven’t seen you since—”

“Since I snuck out of your apartment at two in the morning?” she interjected.  “Yeah. Sorry about that. Not exactly the stay-and-cuddle type.”

“Well, neither am I,” he said coolly.  “So perhaps we can move on to the present.  Why are you here?”

She finally met his eyes, her gaze frightened, hunted, but then looked down at her hands again.  Her nails were bitten, dark red polish chipped and flaking.

“This was a mistake,” she muttered.  “I should go.”

She sat back, eyeing the door, and he shook his head.

“You came here for a reason,” he said patiently.  “I’m assuming it’s important, or you wouldn’t be here, right?”

She bit her lip, trembling as she sat there, and he wondered what had her so scared.  It must be something big, to bring her back to him. Perhaps she had a lead on the Neverland gang that had been flooding the streets with meth.  He tried again, more gently.

“Do you have some information for me?” he asked.  “If so, we can always take this conversation elsewhere. Somewhere you’d feel more comfortable talking to me.”

Lacey looked up at him, her eyes flashing.

 _“Information?”_ she snapped.  “What, you thought I came here to rat on someone?”

“I’ve no idea,” he said, his patience fleeing.  “But I haven’t got all bloody day, so what is it?  You got something to tell me or not?”

 _“Police business,”_ she said, her voice thick with derision.  “Was that all I bloody was to you? Is that the only reason you think I’d be back?”

“Well, I’m hardly likely to think you came here to pick up where we fucking left off, am I?” he retorted, matching her tone.  “If you’re not here for payment, what the hell is it?”

“I’m pregnant!” she blurted.  “Seventeen weeks. I just - I thought you should know.”

He gaped at her, his heart beginning to thump painfully hard, shock stealing his breath, his voice.  Lacey gave him an agonised look, then pushed out of the chair, quick as a scared cat, and lunged for the door, wrenching it open and disappearing before he could move.

For a moment he was frozen in place, her words echoing around his head, but then some natural instinct to pursue took over, and he leapt out of the chair, ducking into the corridor and racing after her.  He almost sent Officer Dunbroch flying, and she yelled after him that he was a stupid bastard. He supposed she wasn’t fucking wrong.

There was no sign of Lacey in the entrance, but he knew she would have fled without looking back, and so he raced out into the street and glanced around, catching sight of her flashing feet and rippling hair in the distance.  He set off after her, cursing the precious moments he had spent sitting on his arse while she took off.   _Pregnant.  She’s fucking pregnant.  What the fuck are you gonna do about this, then, you bloody idiot?_

“Lacey!” he shouted.  “Lacey, wait!”

She slowed to a jog and then to a stop, head hanging, and he drew level with her, breath leaving his body in clouds of white as he caught his breath.  Lacey hunched her shoulders, the sleeves of her sweater falling down over her hands beneath the coat, as though it was several sizes too big for her. She looked like an urchin, cold, lost and scared, and he wanted to put an arm around her, to hold her close and tell her everything was going to be alright.  The lie would do as well for him as for her.

“Hey,” he said lamely.  “I - uh - it looks as though we need to talk.”

“Yeah,” she whispered.

She looked thoroughly miserable, lower lip protruding a little, eyes focused somewhere on the ground at his feet.  He scratched the back of his head, feeling out of his depth, and not liking it.   _She’s pregnant.  Get her out of the fucking cold, you numpty!_

“Here,” he said, trying to keep his voice gentle, as though she was a wild animal, nervous and about to bolt.  “Let’s - let’s get you in the warm, hmm? Granny’s is nearby - perhaps some coffee?”

“Not supposed to drink it,” she said gloomily.  “Makes me queasy.”

“Ah.”   _Shit.  What the hell do I know about caring for bloody pregnant women?  Nothing, that’s what. Fucking useless!_ “Uh - hot chocolate?”

Lacey raised her eyes then, nodding cautiously, and he put a hand on the small of her back, steering her towards the diner.  She moved with shuffling feet, as though she was reluctant to be with him. Given the circumstances, he supposed he could understand it.  He opened the door for her, a warm bubble of coffee and cinnamon scented air wrapping around them and pulling them inside. The diner was relatively quiet, and they found an empty table, Lacey sliding in across from him as Weaver ordered black coffee for himself, and a hot chocolate with everything for her.

“You want anything to eat?” he asked.

She looked longingly at the cakes on the counter, but shook her head.  She always had found it difficult to accept things from him, even down to a fucking piece of cake, but he ordered a chocolate brownie anyway, pretending it was for him.  The waitress jotted down their order and hurried off, and he leaned on the table, lacing his fingers together. Lacey was shifting uncomfortably, plucking at the sleeve of her sweater, her teeth chewing nervously on her lower lip as she glanced up at him.

“Right,” he said, wishing that he knew what the hell he was doing.  “So. Uh - you’re pregnant?”

She nodded, mouth flattening, as though she was about to cry.

“Okay,” he said.  “Well, I’m assuming you wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t mine.”

Lacey glared at him, blue eyes flashing, and he nodded.

“Yeah, shouldn’t have asked.  Sorry.”

She shrugged, and the fire left her eyes again, doused by fear and hopelessness.  He tried to think of something else to say.

“Did you say seventeen weeks?”

“Well, that _was_ the last time I saw you,” she said dryly.

“Yeah.”

He squeezed his fingers together, feeling awkward.  The sounds in the diner seemed unnaturally loud, the clink of cutlery and the clash of plates making him flinch.  There was a strange ringing in his ears, and he felt disconnected, as though he was in someone else’s body. Another man had received the news that he was going to be a father.  Another man was speaking with a surprisingly calm voice, trying to make the mother of his child feel better. Trying and failing.

“Uh - how are you feeling?” he asked, and Lacey looked up at him incredulously.

“How am I _feeling_?” she snapped.  “I’m exhausted and fucking terrified, okay?”

“Right,” he said hurriedly.  “I just meant - you’re not sick?”

“Had the whole morning sickness thing,” she said, and shrugged.  “Better than it was, thank God. Couldn’t keep anything down for a couple of months.”

“Right,” he said, hating the hollow sound of his voice.  “And - and the baby? It’s okay?”

“Yeah,” she said wearily, sitting back.  “Yeah, the baby’s fine. So they told me, anyway.  Got the pregnancy test, swore a lot, got a bunch of advice on what to do and what not to drink...  Tough to pay for care when you don’t have a steady job, though. Thank God for Planned Parenthood, right?”

“Right,” he said again, wanting to hit himself in the face with something.  “Well, that’s something I can help with, at least. Tests - uh - ultrasounds.  I’ll help, I promise. Whatever you need.”

The waitress returned, setting down his coffee and her hot chocolate, the mug topped with whipped cream and marshmallows, a chocolate flake sticking out of it.  A plate containing a large, sticky brownie went between them, and Weaver pushed it towards her a little, hoping she’d eat it. Lacey pulled the flake from her mug, slipping it into her mouth and sucking off the cream before using it to stir her hot chocolate.  There was melted chocolate on her fingers, and she licked it off, her eyes meeting his.

“Whatever I need?” she asked.  “What does that mean?”

Weaver took a deep breath, trying to sound as though he had some sort of fucking control over his life, despite feeling as though he was spiralling into oblivion.  She didn’t need to know he was barely keeping a lid on his panic. She needed him to be there for her. As she had once been there for him.

“Well, for a start, it means you move back in with me,” he said.  “You can’t live on the bloody streets when you’re pregnant. I can’t believe you didn’t come to me earlier.”

Lacey was silent for a moment, fingers opening and closing around the mug, but she nodded.

“Okay,” she said cautiously.  “I could do that.”

“We can put the baby in your old room,” he added.  “It’ll fit a crib and a changing mat and whatever else we might need.  A playpen, I guess. I can dismantle your old bed, stand it against the wall while the baby’s small, and when it gets old enough for a bed, we’ll have one, right?”

His mind was racing, thoughts scampering through his brain, to be picked up and discarded as he tried to decide on the best course of action to take.  He thought he knew what that was, but was unsure whether she would agree. Lacey eyed him for a moment as she sipped her hot chocolate. There was cream on her lips when she lowered the mug, and she licked it off.

“So,” she said, sitting back a little.  “When you say ‘move back in’, you mean - not like we were before?  You mean - you mean like a couple?”

“Yeah.”  He tapped his fingers together restlessly, and blurted: “I think we should get married.”

Lacey almost choked on her drink, whipped cream splattering the tabletop, and she blinked at him incredulously.

_“What?”_

“We should get married,” he repeated.

There was a moment of stunned silence, and she shook her head.

“You can’t be serious.”

“No, I am,” he insisted.

The more he thought about it, the more it seemed to make perfect sense.  She was homeless, after all, and although she was adept at looking after herself on the streets, he doubted it was what she wanted for their baby.  She needed security, a place to call her own, confidence that he wouldn’t just walk away and leave her and the child to fend for themselves. He could offer her that.  Commitment. It wasn’t as though they didn’t get along; he liked her very much, and he was reasonably sure she liked him. Maybe not romantically, but there were successful marriages built on far less than mutual affection, and they had that.  Surely they had that, at least. She was staring at him, and he tried to outline his thinking, to sell her the idea.

“Children need stability, right?” he said.  “And the life of a cop - well, it has its dangers.”

“I guess,” she said, looking suspicious.

“Well, I never had to think about what might happen if I didn’t come home one night,” he explained.  “It would have been somebody else’s fucking problem if I got myself shot. But now I have a child on the way, I need to start planning ahead.  This way, I’d be sure that you’d be looked after, if anything happened to me. Both of you. You’d be safe. You’d have money. A place to stay. The Police Department would make sure you were both taken care of.”

She was silent, watching him with narrowed eyes, and he wondered what she was thinking.

“And the benefits are pretty good,” he added.  “You’d get insurance, so you wouldn’t have to worry about medical bills.  It makes sense, don’t you think?”

Lacey reached for the brownie, breaking off a piece and popping it into her mouth.

“And this is what you want, is it?” she said flatly.  “A shotgun wedding with the girl you knocked up one night?”

He unlaced his fingers, spreading his hands as his brows went up, and hoping he didn’t look as helpless as he felt.

“I - I want to do the right thing.”

“For who?”

“For both of us,” he said.  “For - for all of us.”

Lacey closed her eyes, pressing her lips together, and he leaned forward a little.

“Lacey, it’s not like we haven’t shared the place before,” he said gently.  “I know we weren’t _together_ as such, but we’re not strangers.  We’re friends, aren’t we? I _thought_ we were friends, anyway: I - I don’t understand why you left.”

It was a question he wanted an answer to, but perhaps it wasn’t the time to push for one.  She nodded, not looking at him.

“Yeah,” she said softly.  “We were friends.”

“Well then.”

She looked away, squeezing her eyes shut, and a tear tracked its way down her cheek.

“Ah…”  He sat back, running agitated fingers through his hair.  “Lacey, please don’t cry. We can get through this, I promise.”

“I never wanted to be a burden,” she whispered.

“You’re not a burden,” he said sharply.  “Don’t talk about yourself that way. I liked having you live with me, having someone to come home to, to cook for.  I liked having you tease me and order me to go to fucking sleep and bring me coffee in the mornings.”

She almost smiled at that, but two more tears slid down her cheeks, glistening in the harsh lights above them. He wanted to reach out to her, but instead he leaned forward on folded arms, watching the way her lower lip trembled, as though she was holding in an ocean of tears.

“We could do all that again,” he said gently.  “We could be friends again, just - different. I know it won’t be the same as it was, but - well, it was never _gonna_ be the same, was it?  We made a baby together.”

Lacey hunched her shoulders a little, ducking her head.

“It’s not like we were ever a _thing_ ,” she said miserably.  “It’s not like you loved me.  It just happened, that’s all. You were sad, and - and I was lonely.  There was no love there.”

He sat back again, wanting to sigh.  It was true that their one time together had been caused by guilt, grief and too much whisky.  He’d been an idiot to let his guard down so much, to let her in, to let her comfort him. But it had felt so, so good to kiss her, to hold her.  To take her to bed and lose himself in her. It had felt so good, just for once, to let himself feel something other than rage and pain and loss.

“Well, maybe not,” he said quietly.  “But I don’t think that’s what’s important here, is it?  We have a kid on the way, so we need to start planning for that.  Try not to worry. I’ll do whatever I can to help, I promise.”

She sniffed, dashing away tears with the heel of her hand as she finally looked at him, her face uncertain.

“You want this baby?”

“Well, I haven’t had much of a chance to think about it,” he said honestly.  “And I’d be lying if I said it was something I’d seen in my future before today, but I think we can try to make the best of it.”

Lacey stared at him for a moment, chewing her lip, and then reached out to cup his cheek, a brief press of her fingertips against fresh stubble, her touch cool.  She shook her head.

“You don’t want that,” she whispered.  “I don’t want to be a burden, Rafe. I never wanted that.  You’ve been good to me. Too good. I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

“You’re not a burden,” he said again, more gently.  “I took you in because it was the right thing to do.  And so is this.”

She sniffed again as she sat back, wiping away more tears, and he leaned on the table.

“Marry me, Lacey,” he said.  “It’ll be for the best, I promise.  For you and the baby. I’ll take care of you both.”

She sighed heavily, but he could tell she was wavering.

“Where are you living now?” he asked, and she shrugged despondently.

“Where I can, I guess.”

“So, are you gonna come live with me, or would you prefer this baby to be born in a warehouse?”

“Alright, _fine_!” she grumbled.  “I’ll bloody marry you, if it’ll shut you up.”

There was a flicker of her old fire there, and it made him grin.

“Who said romance was dead?”

“Someone with an accurate assessment of this shithole world,” she said dryly, and his grin widened.

“Let me just make a call.”

He pulled out his phone to call Fa, getting her voicemail and saying that he was taking the rest of his shift off for personal reasons.  He doubted she’d call back; she was always telling him he worked too much. Lacey popped another piece of brownie into her mouth, chewing as she watched him.

“What happened to your partner?” she asked.  “Nolan?”

Weaver hesitated, slipping his phone back into his pocket and picking up his coffee.

“No change,” he said shortly.  "At least not yet.  His wife gave birth not long after you left.  A boy, Neal."

"Oh," she said.  "So - you work alone now, or what?"

“Fa’s my partner now," he said.  "She’s good.  Very efficient, good instincts.  Bosses me around almost as much as you did.”

Lacey gave him a hint of a smile at that, and he nodded to her half-empty cup.

“Drink your hot chocolate,” he said.  “I’m gonna take you home.”

* * *

They walked back to the precinct from Granny’s, and Weaver picked up his car, driving Lacey out to the warehouse she had been calling home.  He kept a neutral expression on his face as he followed her in to collect the few things she had, but he was secretly seething with anger that she had felt she had no other choice but to live in a damp and cold industrial building with a vermin problem.

“We’ll go get you some new clothes tomorrow,” he said, as she stowed her backpack in the trunk of the car. “Surprised you didn’t bloody freeze to death.”

“Used to it,” was all she said, and they set off for his apartment.

The place was reasonably tidy; he had always been pretty neat, and urgent calls at three in the morning had cured him of leaving his boots on the floor where he could fall over them.  He suggested that she might want to take a bath, and her expression brightened at that, so he gave her fresh towels and left her to it, going through to the kitchen to inspect the contents of the fridge.  His lips curled at the contents; beer, cheese and milk were all very well, but she would need proper nourishment.

 _Maybe she has cravings.  Pregnant women crave stuff, don’t they?  Chocolate cake or Krispy Kremes, or something almost impossible to find in Seattle like bloody crumpets with Marmite or fucking Irn Bru._  He pulled out a beer and slammed the fridge door shut, shaking his head. _No, she’s Australian, she’s probably never had bloody Irn Bru.  I should get her some Irn Bru.  Or maybe it’s pizza with tuna and banana or something bloody weird like that._

He rolled his eyes with a sigh, popping the top off the beer bottle and deciding that grocery shopping could wait until tomorrow.  They could phone for a takeout. Whatever she wanted, she could have.

He went through to the lounge, swigging the cold beer and looking around.  Strange to think that in a matter of months there would be three of them living there.  A baby. He had never thought he’d be a father. Too caught up in the job to even try to make relationships work, even if he had wanted to.  He’d have to try now, though. He sank down onto the squashy leather couch with a sigh, remembering the times they had curled up there together to drink whisky and argue good-naturedly about crap that didn’t matter.  Things would be different between them now, but maybe not so different. Maybe it would be good for both of them. Give her a stable home, and him a reason to leave his desk. Maybe they could be happy.

He waited for her to leave the bathroom, finishing his beer and getting another.  Eventually she came out, dressed in loose pants and an oversized sweater, her hair clean and shining.  He suggested takeout, and she immediately asked for spicy pizza with a side of hot wings. They ate dinner seated at the kitchen table, just as they had before, although without the easy banter of two accidental roommates.  Lacey was quiet, but she ate everything he put in front of her, including most of the hot wings. Afterwards, he cleaned up, and made her some tea, carried through to the lounge with a glass of whisky for himself. He sat on the couch next to her, and she took the tea from him, drawing up her feet and tucking them under herself, small, pale hands wrapped around the mug.  Weaver sat back, watching her as he sipped at his whisky.

“I looked for you after you left,” he said quietly, and she sniffed, her eyes on her tea.

“Thought you might.”

“No one seemed to know where you were,” he added, and she shrugged.

“Didn’t tell anyone, that’s why.”

Weaver wanted to sigh, but he took another sip of his whisky and tried again.

“So - where did you go?”

“Maine.”

_“Maine?”_

She shrugged again, sipping at her tea, and he shook his head.

“I mean, I knew I was rusty, but I’ve never actually had someone move to the other side of the country after the first time,” he remarked.  “Was I really _that bad_?”

She didn’t respond, and he tilted his head.

“Lacey,” he said gently.  “I’m trying to lighten the mood here.”

“I know,” she sighed, and glanced at him.  “Sorry, I’m being a miserable bitch. Been a hell of a few months.”

“You should tell me about it sometime,” he said, and she nodded.

“I might go to bed,” she said.  “Kinda beat. You mind?”

He shook his head, and she stood up, cradling her cup.

“I’ll - take my old room for now,” she added, looking awkward.  “It’s - look, this is all kind of new, you know? Could use a few days to get used to it.”

“Of course,” he said immediately, and ran a hand through his hair as he sighed.  “Look - maybe I wasn’t clear in what I said earlier. I was absolutely serious in saying I want us to get married, but you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, alright?  And that includes with me. I’m - I’m not gonna force you into anything, okay? We can leave the bed in your room, just as it is.”

“So where will the baby sleep?” she asked dryly.

“We’ll sort something out.”

She eyed him for a moment, and nodded, her shoulders loosening a little, some of the cautiousness leaving her.  He set down his whisky glass and showed her to her old room, and if she was surprised that it was ready for her, with clean sheets on the bed and the drawers cleared out, she said nothing.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said lamely.  “Sleep well.”

Lacey nodded, shifting from foot to foot, and just as he thought she was about to shut the door in his face, she fixed him with her wide blue eyes, squaring her jaw.

“You still have that really good coffee?” she asked.

He smiled, a faint twitch of his mouth.

“In the cupboard.”

“Well, I may not be able to drink the stuff,” she said, a little awkwardly, “but I guess I could make you one. Get your arse out of bed like I used to, yeah?”

Weaver’s smile grew a little.

“I’d like that.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last time in the present, Weaver signed the divorce papers after a night of sex with Lacey. Here's what happened next.

Weaver had left the apartment immediately after putting the signed divorce papers on the kitchen counter for Lacey to find, his skin still humming from the pleasure they had shared and his emotions in turmoil.  The two a.m. walk home was uneventful, much to his disgust. He had half-hoped for some idiot to cross his path, just so he had the excuse of beating the crap out of another denizen of Seattle’s loathsome criminal underbelly.

He slept poorly, rising at five-thirty to drink three cups of coffee and head out to the precinct.  Signing the papers had affected him more deeply than he had anticipated; he had told himself they were just words, that those few strokes of a pen were only evidence of an agreement between them.  His agreement to end everything they had.  He was in a foul mood, and so he chose to deal with pain and heartbreak in the best way he knew, which was to bury himself in work.  Fortunately, Fa had received a tip-off about a meth lab in an old factory, and much of the day was spent following up leads and speaking with the uniformed officers to arrange a raid on the place. Since he had switched back from Homicide to Vice over three years ago, he found that his workload was increasing, the flow of drugs onto the streets seemingly never-ending.  The news of a possible new player in town didn’t make his mood any better.

“I don’t have anything solid on this new gang,” said Fa, when he asked her about the tip-off.  “My informants are talking about dealers being priced out of the market. There have been threats of violence, intimidation, even disappearances of some of the more unsavoury characters we know.  No one will talk openly, of course.”

“Of course,” said Weaver, running a weary hand over his face.  “Any big names being whispered around?”

Fa shook her head, dark ponytail swinging.

“No one we know,” she said.  “I’m thinking if we bust this lab open, we might get something concrete to work on.”

“Set it up,” Weaver agreed.  “I could do with the exercise.”

“I think we’re looking at Tuesday morning,” she said.  “Bright and early, what do you say?”

“I’m in.”

* * *

After she had found the signed papers, Lacey tried to hold in her tears, busying herself with making coffee for herself, and tea for Tilly.  She mixed pancake batter, using the action to work out some of her grief, and set the bowl aside while she poured herself a cup of steaming, fragrant coffee.  It was dark and bitter, which matched her mood, but she added lots of cream and sugar as always, cupping the mug in her hands and inhaling the aroma as she leaned against the kitchen cupboards.  A faint slap of feet reached her ears, and Tilly padded through, Dragon tucked under her arm, yawning and rubbing one eye.

“You want to go out today, sweetie?” asked Lacey, and Tilly beamed at her.

“Can Henry come?”

“If your Aunt Roni says so,” said Lacey.  “We’ll call them, okay?”

“Can we go to the park?”

“Uh - sure.”  Lacey took a sip of her coffee.

“Can we go to Granny’s?”

Her eyes were sparkling, and Lacey couldn’t help grinning.

“You want a burger for lunch?”

“Yeah!”

“As long as you eat your breakfast, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good girl.”

Tilly slipped onto a chair at the kitchen table, and Lacey set down the coffee to make the pancakes, letting the pan heat while she got out the maple syrup and a punnet of blueberries.

“You want ‘em in the pancakes or on top?”

“Daddy does both.”

“Alrighty then.”

Lacey poured pancake batter in a round, waiting for it to cook before hissing in vexation.   _She wants funny shapes, I said I’d make her funny shapes._  She flipped the pancake, shaking her head.

“Sorry baby, I forgot about the funny shapes,” she said.  “So I’ll take this round one, okay?”

“I don’t mind the round ones,” Tilly assured her solemnly, and Lacey felt tears prick her eyes.   _She’s her father’s daughter.  Wants to make things easy for me.  I don’t deserve either of them._

The second pancake fared better; she managed to shape it into something resembling a Mickey Mouse head, although with the blueberries studded through it looked as though Mickey had some sort of disease.  Lacey flipped it onto a plate with the first, glancing around with a start as there was a knock at the door.  Heart thumping, she turned off the heat, carrying the plate to the table where Tilly waited with the bottle of maple syrup clutched in one small hand

“Eat up, okay?” said Lacey.

Wiping her hands, she raised her chin and stalked to the front door, putting the chain across before opening it. Her heart sank as she recognised the person standing there. He was slim and dark-haired, with a close-cropped beard, and Lacey imagined that women that didn’t know him too well thought him good-looking, and that he knew it.  His name was Arthur, and if he was visiting her during the day it wasn’t a good sign.

“What do you want?” she asked flatly.

“A progress update,” he said, and raised an eyebrow.  “You want me to talk about this in the hallway where all your neighbours can hear?”

Lacey glowered at him, then opened the door to let him walk past her.

“Make it quick,” she said.  “I have shit to do.”

“Well, unless any of that is doing what you agreed to, I couldn’t be less interested,” he said coldly.  “What’s the status?”

Lacey hesitated.

“It’s proving harder than I thought,” she admitted.  “It’s not like I have any reason to go there on a whim.”

“Don’t you?”

"Not anymore," she said, putting her hands on her hips.  "You know my situation."

"Sounds to me like you're creating barriers," he said.  "A suspicious person might think that was deliberate."

"I can hold up my end of the bargain," she said, through gritted teeth.

"And yet our mutual friend felt the need to have me come remind you of your obligations."

"I don't need reminding of anything!" whispered Lacey fiercely.  "I'll do what I promised!  Now back the hell off!"

Arthur looked off to the side, and Lacey glanced across, noting that Tilly had left the kitchen and was staring at them.  Arthur’s face broke into a wide, false smile.

“Well, hello there, little lady!” he said heartily.  “I’m just having a chat with Mommy about work, okay?”

Tilly looked him up and down, lips pursed as though she wasn’t sure what species he was.

“My daddy’s a _police officer_ ,” she said, and Arthur blinked.

“Go eat your pancakes, baby,” said Lacey.  “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Tilly raised her chin and stomped off again, and Arthur’s smile grew.

“Cute kid,” he said.  “Here’s hoping her mother has some sense, or things could go badly.”

Lacey folded her arms.

“Are you threatening us?” she said softly.  “Because I get the feeling your boss wouldn’t like that.  Correct me if I’m wrong.”

The smile slipped a little before returning, as false and empty as ever.

“Check in with an update before the end of the week,” he said coldly.  “Patience is a virtue that not everyone possesses, do you understand me?”

Lacey glared at him, but nodded, and he swept out, the door closing behind him.  She ran her hands over her face, taking a couple of deep breaths to calm herself, and exhaled loudly, striding to the kitchen.

“So,” she said brightly, clapping her hands together and making Tilly smile.  “Let’s see how much of a mess I can make of this next pancake, hmm?”

* * *

Friday morning had dawned unusually bright and sunny, if cold, but to Lacey it still seemed as though the sky was overcast, the clouds dark and heavy, and she had to keep looking out of the window to remind herself that it was a crisp winter day.  It had been like this the day they got married: a rare bright, dry day in March that had been cold enough to make her teeth ache. She hadn’t minded that, or the snow that fell when they went to the Nolans’ cabin for their brief honeymoon.  It had been almost magical, the falling of fat white flakes amongst the black trunks of fir trees and the blue glow of moonlight on soft drifts of snow.  The way the cold air caught in her throat and made her eyes water as they had looked out over the lake, its edges clouded with feathery growths of ice spreading down from dead clumps of reeds.  The warmth of the fire he had lit within the cabin, and the softness and comfort of the bed they had shared.  The pleasure of his touch.

She had always disliked the cold, being born and raised in Melbourne until she was six, and Nevada after that.  Her first winter in the northern US had come as a shock to the system, but she had seen it as something of a rite of passage, a mark of the new life she was making for herself.  Sometimes she wondered what had possessed her to travel to the northern states, to move between Washington and Illinois and Maine and all the places in between, as the mood took her.  Perhaps it was her subconscious at work, thinking no one would think to look for her in the wettest and coldest places in the US.  Hadn't lasted, as it turned out, but she had had ten years of relative peace since making her home there.  Ten years of peace and four years of happiness.  Until now.

She was nervous, and it wasn’t merely the fact that Weaver was going to be coming over for the first time since he had signed the divorce papers.  They still sat in her bag, neatly folded and ready for the next step she had to take. She was trying to put that off for as long as possible, but she couldn’t delay it forever.  It made her heart ache whenever she thought about it, so she had shoved them out of sight until she had no choice but to follow through with her plan. Her plan was the other thing that was making her nervous, and she paced back and forth while Tilly played in her bath.  It was fortunate that it was Weaver’s turn to take her for a couple of days; Lacey felt as though she was slowly losing her mind, her anxiety levels causing her to forgo sleep and become snappish and tearful. None of it was Tilly’s fault, and she didn’t want her daughter seeing her in such a state.  Besides, it would be good for her to spend some time with her father.

Lacey started at a knock at the door, her heart thumping.   _If it's fucking Arthur again I'll punch him right in the middle of his smug face._ The knock came again, and she took a deep breath, opening and closing her fists.  Glancing at Tilly, who was playing some sort of game with the toy dolphin and elephant she liked to take in the bath, she slipped out of the bathroom and hurried to the hallway, putting the chain across before opening it a crack.  She peered out nervously, relaxing a little as she saw Weaver’s grim expression above the chain. He raised an eyebrow.

“We did have an arrangement,” he said neutrally.

“Oh.”  She blinked.  “Yeah, of course.  Come on in.”

She shut the door, taking off the chain and opening it fully.  He walked in, an air of bitterness and low-key anger hanging around him, thick and heavy as the leather jacket he wore.  She supposed she couldn’t blame him, in the circumstances, but it still made her want to cry.  How absurd was that, wanting to break down when he’d given her everything she asked for?  Part of her knew that that her distress stemmed from the fact that he’d done it so easily, so willingly.  As though it meant nothing to him.  As though it was a relief.  Perhaps it was.

He had walked through to the lounge, and she followed him, leaning in the doorway as he turned to face her.

“Is she ready?” he asked.

“In the tub,” said Lacey.  “We kind of had an accident with breakfast this morning.  Never let a three-year-old ‘help’ with the smoothie you wanted.”

Weaver’s mouth twitched, as though he wanted to smile, but then it fell from his face and his grim expression was back.

“What about her things?” he said.  “Last time she wanted more books.”

“Oh, I forgot to pack them,” said Lacey, running her hands over her face.  “Sorry.”

“Well, we’ll do it now,” he said, and stomped off to Tilly’s bedroom.

Lacey checked on Tilly before following him through, closing the bedroom door behind them.  She watched as he put Tilly’s little turquoise case on the bed and opened it up, looking through what she’d already packed.

“Come to think of it, she might need some warmer clothes, as well, depending on what you have planned,” said Lacey.  “I head the weather's gonna take a turn for the worse.”

She opened up one of the drawers, picking out a little sweater and pants and another pair of mittens, and Weaver nodded as he took them.  There was silence as he picked out books: terrible, deafening silence that she longed to break. He seemed to sense it, and as always gave her a way out, glancing up as he placed another book on the small pile.

“You clearly have something to say, so let’s hear it.”

Lacey licked her lips.

“You left,” she said.  “The other night, after we - uh…”  She stumbled over the words. “You - you just - _left_.”

Weaver looked away again.

“Yeah, well, as I remember it you told me you’d had your use of me,” he said evenly.  “Didn’t see much point in sticking around.”

She was silent for a moment, and he went on packing.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” she said quietly, and he let out a small, humourless chuckle, still not looking at her.

“No, you shouldn’t,” he said.  “But it might be the one thing you said to me that wasn’t a total fucking lie, so I’ll hang onto it if it’s all the same to you.”

He slammed the case shut, zipping it fiercely, and straightened up, turning to face her.  There was anger there, a gleam in his eyes that made her skin tingle and her heart thump, but she doubted he would respond to her touch again.  The thought that they might have shared a bed for the last time hit her like a blow to the chest, and she sucked in a breath, eyes stinging. Weaver was watching her, his jaw tight and his mouth set in a thin line.

“Anytime you want to tell me what else is going on, Lacey, feel fucking free,” he said.

She swallowed, raising her chin, meeting his eyes with hers and giving a tiny shake of her head.  He ran a hand over his face with a sigh, and some of the anger left him, replaced with a weary resignation that was somehow worse.

“Do you want me to get her dressed?” he asked, and Lacey shook her head.

“I’ll do it,” she said.  “Uh - you want some coffee?”

He looked as though he was about to refuse, and she took a step forward.

“Please,” she added.  “Look, at least be in the apartment when she comes out.  I don’t want to do that bullshit thing where you wait in the damn car for her.”

A look of pain flashed across his face, but he finally nodded.

“Alright,” he said.  “I’ll make the coffee.”

She nodded, and he picked up the case and stepped past her, opening the bedroom door.

“You signed the papers,” she blurted.

Weaver froze with his back to her, hand on the door handle, and slowly swivelled back around to face her.  Lacey eyed him, chewing her lip as she shifted.

“Yeah,” he said.  “It was your idea, if you recall.”

“Yeah.”

She felt terrible, the loss and pain in his face clear to her, no matter how much he tried to close himself off. Tears welled in her eyes, and she swallowed hard.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.  “For what it’s worth. I never meant to hurt you.”

Weaver set down the case, taking a step towards her, a softness in his eyes once more.

“I want you to be happy, Lacey,” he said.  “You’re clearly not, and it’s pretty fucking obvious I don’t know _how_ to make you happy.  So I guess you were right.  Just took me awhile to see it.”

She bit her lip, her eyes stinging.   _I was happy.  God, I was so happy.  You did make me happy, I swear it!_

He turned away again, but hesitated, turning back and lifting a hand to cup her cheek.  His touch was warm, his scent achingly familiar, and she wanted to lean into it, to step into his arms and kiss him and let him take her to bed once more.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for,” he added, more gently.  “I really do.”

She closed her eyes, losing herself in the feel of him for a moment, and then he was gone, stepping out of the room and leaving her weighted down with guilt and heartbreak and a deep well of unshed tears.

* * *

Weaver felt his heart sink as he clutched Tilly’s hand and she waved an enthusiastic goodbye to her mother, light brown curls bouncing.  Lacey was smiling as much as she could in the doorway to the apartment, but she looked as though she was going to cry any second, and she shut the door quickly enough that he suspected she soon would be.  He had tried to hide as much of his feelings from her as possible, to keep his hurt and confusion buried deep within where it could hurt only him.  The last thing he wanted was to make this harder for her.  Her life had been hard enough.

Tilly was looking up at him quizzically, and he squeezed her hand.

“Okay, princess,” he said gently.  “Shall we go and see your Uncle David?”

“Yeah!” exclaimed Tilly, bouncing up and down.  “Can I play with Neal and Wilby?”

“Oh, I think that could be arranged.”

He couldn’t help smiling at her excitement, and swept her up in one arm to head to the elevator, dragging the little suitcase with him.

David Nolan’s place was a short drive away, further out of town on a tree-lined street, a three-bed house with a spacious yard and a picket fence to add to the image of suburban domestic bliss.  Nolan had been his partner in Vice, and had followed him to Homicide.  A bad accident and the resulting coma had ended his police career, and so he spent his time caring for his son while his wife, Snow, taught at a nearby elementary school.  Neal was almost nine months older than Tilly, but the two got along well, and Weaver made sure to keep in regular contact with his old partner and good friend.

Nolan had been unable to walk since coming out of his coma, confined to a wheelchair and undergoing rigorous physical therapy sessions to try to regain the use of his legs.  It was a slow process, and Weaver was privately unsure whether he would walk again, but David Nolan was an eternal optimist.  It had made for a productive partnership, Nolan's easygoing nature and earnest desire to do the right thing balancing his own cynicism and tendency to bend the rules.  Or break them entirely when justice called for it.

He left Tilly’s case in the car, holding her in the crook of one arm as he walked up the wooden ramp to the porch.  The ramp had been painted by Snow when it was first fitted: dark grey to match the porch. The paint was flaking on the sides now, and he reminded himself to offer to repaint it.  If indeed Snow would accept his help; their relationship had been somewhat brittle ever since the accident, and he couldn't blame her for that.

He rapped on the door, an excited barking immediately starting up within the house, and shared a grin with Tilly at the sound of it.  After a moment, Nolan answered the door, beaming up at them from his seat in the wheelchair, the sleeves of his plaid shirt rolled up to his elbows and a twinkle in his blue eyes.  Wilby, the Nolans' dog, came tearing into the hallway in a blur of black, brown and white, tongue lolling out and tail wagging as he pushed his nose into Weaver's hand to be petted.

“Hey there,” said Nolan.  “To what to we owe the pleasure?”

“I want to play with Neal and Wilby,” said Tilly stoutly, and Nolan’s smile widened.  He looked back over his shoulder.

“Neal!” he called.  “Your Uncle Rafe’s here with Tilly!”

“Yay!” came a piping voice from inside the house.

Weaver grinned, setting Tilly down, and Neal Nolan came hurtling into the hall, waving a piece of paper.

“I drawed a unicorn!” he announced happily.

“Hey, that’s fantastic!” said Weaver, bending to set Tilly down and peer at the drawing as he scratched Wilby's ears.  “Are you two gonna draw some more for us?”

“Yeah!”

The two children ran off together, Wilby letting out a snort and shaking his head before following them with his tail windmilling, and Weaver straightened up, running a hand through his hair with a sigh.  Nolan gave him a knowing look.

“You look like you need to talk,” he said.  “Coffee?”

“God, please.”

Weaver closed the door behind him, following Nolan as he steered the chair down the hallway to the kitchen.  The faint chatter of the two children was coming from the lounge, and Weaver pushed the kitchen door to with his foot, muting the sound a little.  Nolan reached for the set of crutches leaning against the sink, shoving them under his armpits.

“You need a hand?” asked Weaver, but he shook his head.

“Nope,” he said, through gritted teeth.  “Gotta keep trying.”

He had backed the chair up against the cupboards so it wouldn’t move, and shifted forward in the seat, the muscles of his arms bulging as he pulled himself upright with the crutches, feet dragging a little before he got them under himself.  It was an effort, but he swung his body forward, taking one shuffling step to the sink, then another. Weaver itched to help, to turn on the water, to hand him the coffee pot, but he let Nolan do it without assistance, and when water was poured into the coffee maker and cups were on the kitchen table with a little pottery jug of cream, Nolan collapsed back into his chair with a sigh of relief.

“It’s not getting any easier, then?” said Weaver, and received a shrug in return.

“Therapy’s ongoing,” said Nolan.  “I took a grand total of ten steps the other day.  Made it all the way along the parallel bars.  Got a gold star.”

He punched the air in mock celebration, and Weaver shook his head.

“Progress is good, right?” he said.  “You were in that bed for a long time.  I guess you’re trying to deal with the muscle wastage more than retrain your legs at this point.”

“Well, my arms are more than making up for it,” said Nolan cheerfully, flexing a bulging bicep.  “Another six months of lugging this suck-ass body around and I could snap you like a twig.”

“You could do that anyway.”

They shared a grin, and there was comfortable silence for a while as they waited for the coffee to brew.  Weaver looked around the kitchen, eyes flicking from the ticking clock in the shape of a cartoon cat with a swinging tail to the colourful drawings Neal had done, pinned to the fridge with magnets that said things like _Dream, Believe, Achieve, The Best is Y_ _et to Be,_ and _Life is the Most Wonderful Fairy Tale._ Snow was an optimist too.

When the coffee was brewed, Nolan pushed the chair across to the kitchen counter, reaching for the coffee pot and taking it to the table to pour them each a cup.  He glanced up as he pushed one towards Weaver.

“So,” he said.  “How are things going with Lacey?”

Weaver sank into a chair with a grumbling sigh, letting his head roll back as he slumped into the seat.

“She gave me divorce papers,” he said quietly.  “And I signed them.”

Nolan said nothing, merely reaching for the cream and pouring some into his coffee.  There was no judgement in his eyes, but his silence made Weaver want to talk.  As Nolan undoubtedly knew.  Damn him.

“Oh, and we had sex,” he added.  “Passionate, back-breaking, mind-blowing sex, just like the days before she asked me to leave.”

“Before or after you signed the papers?”

“Before.”

Nolan raised an eyebrow.

“Well, now I’m confused,” he remarked, and took a drink.

“Join the fucking club.”

Weaver reached for his cup, taking a sip, and Nolan watched him over the rim of his cup.  He shook his head a little.

“What are you doing, man?” he asked softly.  “You don’t want to do this.”

Weaver’s mouth twisted as he swallowed, and he put down the cup.

“She does,” he whispered.

“Does she?” asked Nolan.  “Look, I know Lacey’s not exactly big on heartfelt declarations of love, but I can tell when two people are good for each other."

"Maybe we used to be."

"Bullshit," said Nolan.  "You two have been inseparable since you got together, and I don't know why either of you would want to change that.  Does it really seem to you like this is something that’s making her happy?”

“She says she doesn’t want to hurt me.”

“Seems to me like you’re both hurting,” he said.  “Hell, you’re _all_ hurting.  How does Tilly feel about it?”

Weaver swallowed hard, looking away.

“She keeps asking why I’m not there,” he said thickly.  “God, I fucking hate it! I hate that we have to _share_ her, that I can’t be there to read to her each night or tuck her into bed.”

“Sounds like it’s hard on all of you,” agreed Nolan.  “Which is kind of my point.”

“Well, Lacey’s the one that got herself a lawyer,” growled Weaver, snatching at his coffee cup again.  “Seems to me that she’s serious about not wanting us to be together, but I’m happy for you to prove me bloody wrong.”

Nolan was silent, and Weaver could feel the hurt and frustration boiling up within him, burning his chest and throat, ready to burst free.

“You should see the bloody thing her lawyers drew up!” he burst out.  “You wouldn’t _believe_ the amount of detail they go into!  Even providing for who gets custody if one of us dies, is declared insane or bloody _incarcerated_ , for fuck’s sake!  I just - I fucking _hate_ that our entire bloody _futures_ have been set out in a bunch of fucking _clauses_!”

He cut off, blinking rapidly, and looked away, his heart thumping in agitation, and Nolan took a slow sip of his coffee.

“Okay, let me tackle this from another angle,” he said.  “This came out of the blue for you, right?”

Weaver sighed, running a hand over his face and pinching the bridge of his nose to clear tired eyes.

“Right,” he said wearily.  “One day I think I’m happily married, and then I find out I’m not.  Or - or _she’s_ not. Which I guess means I can’t be, either.”

“So what changed?” asked Nolan.  “What else is going on in her life?”

Weaver took a slurp of coffee, nodding.

“She’s lying to me about something,” he admitted.  “Something that’s scared her. No fucking clue what, though.”

“Something from her old life?”

“I don’t know,” he said.  “It’s not as though she was ever open with me about that, either, so who the fuck knows?”

“So maybe find out before you make any life-changing decisions,” suggested Nolan.  “Sounds to me like there’s more going on here than her falling out of love with you.”

Weaver shook his head with a wry, humourless smile.

“Who's to say she was ever in love to begin with?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the last flashback, Weaver proposed to a pregnant Lacey, and she eventually accepted and agreed to move back in with him. Here's what happened next.

_Three years and eight months earlier_

Weaver found that the news of his impending fatherhood gave him insomnia.  After Lacey had gone to bed, he stayed up until three in the morning researching pregnancy, childbirth and how to arrange a wedding in the quickest time possible.  He wasn't about to do anything without speaking to Lacey first, but upon looking into it, he found that they could wrap the whole thing up within a matter of days if they could find someone to perform the ceremony. He didn’t want a fuss, and he suspected Lacey felt the same way.

By the time he finally went to bed he was exhausted, and was woken at seven by a knock on the door.  He groaned into the pillow, burying his face in it in denial of it being morning.

“You wanted me to wake you, remember?”

He rolled onto his back with a sigh, to see Lacey standing there in loose pants and a vest, her dark curls rumpled and a cup of coffee in one hand.  It was like old times, but for the sad look in her eyes. He wished he could make her smile again.

“Thanks,” he said wearily, sitting up and running his hands over his face, and she set the cup down on his nightstand, sitting on the edge of his bed with her hands folded in her lap.

“So,” she said, glancing at him.  “Did you actually get any sleep?”

Weaver let his hands drop, meeting her eyes.  She looked nervous, as though she was half-expecting him to go back on his own suggestion and throw her out again.

“Yeah,” he said.  “I mean I didn’t get a _lot_.  I spent most of the night reading up on what we’d need to do to sort a quick wedding out.  The ceremony itself only takes around fifteen minutes, and it turns out that if we can find someone who’s ordained, we just need to apply for a licence and wait three days.”

“Roni’s ordained,” said Lacey.  “I remember her telling me she married a couple of guys that go to the bar. We could ask her.”

“Is she?”  He shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee.  “Well, that could make things easier. Would you be okay with that?”

Lacey chewed her lip.

“I think it’d be - nice,” she said.  “Having someone we know.”

“Then we can go and see her today,” he said.  “If you like.”

“Okay.”

“We’ll need a couple of witnesses, too,” he added.  “I thought I’d ask Fa and Dunbroch. Just so they get the opportunity to take the piss out of me, really.”

He grinned, trying to lighten the mood, but Lacey regarded him soberly with her blue eyes, silent, almost accusing. He wanted to sigh, but he kept going.

“Anyone you want to be there?”

Lacey hesitated for a moment, but shook her head.

"I'll give you some money for a new dress, if you like," he added, and she eyed him.

"What are you going to wear?"

"I own a grand total of one suit," he admitted.  "And honestly it could be a bit tight.  Haven't worn it since I ditched the cigarettes."

Lacey smiled faintly.

"Well, don't be uncomfortable on my account," she said.  "Buy yourself something new, you cheapskate.  Or wear jeans, if you want.  Not like this is gonna be a  _Hello_ celebrity wedding special, is it?"

He smiled at that, but she dropped her gaze, looking at her hands, and he put his head to the side, trying to catch her eye.

“What about after?” he asked.

“After?”

“It’s traditional to go on honeymoon.”

Lacey wrinkled her nose.

“I think I’d rather just stay in town.”

“You sure?” he asked.  “When I say honeymoon, I was - I was just meaning a break, a change, that's all.  Just a few days.  I could drive us out of the city. Could be nice to get a little fresh air.”

She was silent, and he sighed, deciding to change the subject.

“What about you?” he asked.  “How did you sleep?”

Lacey shrugged.

“I slept okay,” she said.  “Indigestion. Shouldn’t have eaten all those hot wings.”

“Sorry.”

She wrinkled her nose.

“Nah, it’s one of those pregnancy things,” she said.  “My body wants spicy food even though my brain keeps telling me it’s gonna hurt if I eat it.”

“Is there something I can get you for that?”

She gave him a tiny grin.

“More hot wings?”

Weaver returned the grin.

“I can see I’ll have to save you from yourself.”

“Well, you do like to do that,” she said dryly, and his grin widened.

“So apart from the indigestion, you slept okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, looking around.  “It - it feels kinda like being home.  Comforting. It’s weird.”

“Oh.”  He picked up his coffee.  “Well, good. You know this _is_ your home now, right?”

She nodded, concentrating on her fingers as she tapped them together, and he took a sip of coffee before setting down his cup.

“Why did you go to Maine?” he asked quietly, and Lacey glanced up, catching her lower lip in her teeth for a moment before letting it go and looking away.

“Looked up an old friend,” she said dismissively.

“Were you there long?” he asked, and she shrugged.

“Long enough to work out I was pregnant.”

“Ah,” he said, as though he understood.  He wished he fucking did. “Your friend knows, then?”

“Yeah,” said Lacey softly.  “They - uh - told me to come back here.”

 _Or else you wouldn’t have?_ He shoved the thought away as soon as it formed.  They could talk about why she had left so abruptly some other time.

“You sure you don’t want to invite them to the wedding?” he asked.  Lacey shook her head.

“Long way to come for fifteen minutes, right?”

“I guess,” he said, and sipped his coffee.  “Did you eat breakfast?”

Lacey gave him a flat look.

“What would I eat?” she asked.  “You have _nothing_.  Did you go back to living on coffee and bloody cheese slices the moment I left, or did it take you all of a week?”

He grinned at that.

“Okay, how about we go to Granny’s and get breakfast, then?” he said.

“If we can go grocery shopping afterwards,” she agreed, and patted his shoulder.  “Get your arse out of bed and buy me pancakes.”

She sauntered out, and his grin widened.  She hadn’t changed that much.

* * *

Weaver spent the morning organising his domestic situation as best he could.  Breakfast was followed by grocery shopping, which was something like the old days, him pushing the cart while Lacey tossed whatever she wanted in it, and then a frenzied dash back around the store when they realised they didn’t have anything to make a decent meal with.  They then went to apply for a marriage licence, and he was relieved to see that Lacey seemed a little more enthusiastic about the idea than she had the previous day. It gave him hope that they could make a success of their new life, despite the inauspicious start.

He had work that afternoon, and so after they had gotten Roni’s surprised but immediate agreement to perform the wedding ceremony, he headed off to the precinct, leaving Lacey with Roni, at her request.

Fa wasn’t in the office, which made him frown in puzzlement.  She hadn’t called to tell him that she would be late, and he hoped she hadn’t decided to go chasing after some new lead without waiting for backup.  Unlike her, to be sure; of the two of them, she was the more sensible, cautious one, but he was protective of her nonetheless. Especially given what had happened with Nolan.  She wasn’t answering her phone, either, and he sighed in frustration, leaving her a curt message telling her to call. There were new cases on his desk, but none of them looked especially interesting, and so he checked through his emails instead.  Merida pushed a cup of coffee at him as he dealt with the last of them.

“You look like crap,” she said.  “What kept you awake this time?”

“The thought of seeing you,” he said absently, and she snorted, smacking his shoulder and making him smirk.

“Mulan said to tell you that she’ll be back around three, by the way,” she said.  “Personal time, nothing to worry about.”

Weaver looked up with a wicked grin.

“First name terms now, is it?” he said.  “I was wondering when you two would pull your heads out of your arses.”

Merida blushed a deep red.

“Shut up, it’s no’ like that!”

“Did you forget I’m a bloody detective?” he asked mildly.  “Finding out people's secrets is what I do."

“Can’t find your arse with both hands, most days,” she said, her deep blush clashing wonderfully with her red hair.  

Weaver inclined his head.

"Well, I’ve had to put up with months of you two making heart-eyes at one another over the forensic results,” he said.  "Hardly the biggest mystery I've ever had to crack.  Just bloody ask her out before I do it for you."

"Don't you bloody dare," snapped Merida, still blushing.  “Have you looked at those new files yet?”

“Give me a bloody chance,” he grumbled, reaching for the files.  “Are any of these urgent? I’m planning on taking a week off starting Thursday.”

“Since when?”

“Since now.”

He sipped at the coffee she had given him, and Merida picked up her own cup, frowning curiously.

“What’s with the time off all of a sudden?” she asked, flicking her hair back.  “Drake usually has to kick you out of this place to get you to take a break. You get a new hobby or something?”

“Not exactly,” he said.  “I’m getting married.”

It was gratifying to see her choke on her coffee, and he couldn’t help grinning as she glared at him, setting down the cup on his desk hard enough that coffee slopped over the rim, splattering outwards in a dark brown sunburst.

“Since _when,_ you arsehole?” she demanded.

“Since yesterday,” he said, opening up a file.

“Since—”  She threw up her hands.  “What the bloody hell happened when I was sleeping?”

“Lacey,” he said heavily.  “Turned up out of the blue after four months.  No idea what she’s been up to, but she’s back, and she’s moving in with me.  Permanently.”

“I thought that was her I saw yesterday,” she said thoughtfully, and ran a hand through her hair.  “I mean, I know you two had some kind of weird thing for each other, but I figured that she liked older guys and you were just a pervert.”

“Thanks a fucking bunch,” he said, in a flat tone.  “It was never like that. We were friends, that’s all.”

“And you’re jumping from ‘friends’ to ‘she does a bunk for four months’ to ‘married’?” she said sceptically.  “You sure that’s the logical next step for you two idiots?”

“Well, I found out I’m gonna be a father in five months,” he said dryly.  “Tends to concentrate the mind.”

Her eyes bulged at that.

“Are you trying to give me a bloody heart attack today?” she spluttered.  “Lacey’s _pregnant_?”

“Yes.”

“So when you say you were ‘friends’...”

“It happened once,” he said impatiently.  “She left right after. I woke up and she was gone.”

“You need to work on your technique,” she observed, grinning.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he said.  “By the way, are you busy Thursday afternoon? I need a best man - or woman, I guess - and the only other candidate can’t make it.”

He gave her the briefest of smiles, and she sent him a sober look.

“Still no word?” she asked, and Weaver sighed.

“I went to the hospital yesterday,” he said.  “There’s no change, although they say he could wake up anytime.  Could be hours, could be days. Could be never.”

His voice trailed off, and he looked down at the open file in front of him, pretending to concentrate on its contents but seeing nothing.

“Well,” said Merida, her cheerfulness sounding a little forced.  “Guess I’ll have to be your best woman, then, since you’re such a fucking loser you only have like three friends.”

He grinned at that.

“I don’t have to give a bloody speech, do I?” she asked, and he sighed again.

“Believe me, this is the opposite of a formal occasion,” he said.  “I really only need you there as a witness, to be honest.  It'll be a short ceremony, followed by drinks at Roni’s. I might spring to some food if anyone’s hungry.”

“Seattle’s socialites are gonna lose their shit at missing out on this one.”

“Will you come or not?”

“Fine,” she sighed, sounding put-upon.  “Anyone else attending the wedding of the year?”

“I’ll ask Fa, obviously,” he said.  “Roni’s agreed to perform the ceremony.  That’s pretty much it.”

“Where are you going on honeymoon?” she asked, winking at him.

“We’re not.”

“What?”  She shook her head.  “Fuck’s sake, man, you’re marrying a gorgeous girl less than half your age and you can’t spring for a weekend away?”

“I asked,” he said.  “She said she didn’t want to leave town.”

“I’m guessing no pre-wedding party either.”

“She’s pregnant,” said Weaver repressively.  “And before you ask, no, you are not taking me out and getting me shit-faced, okay?”

Merida sighed, slumping a little.

“Fine,” she said.  “This is shaping up to be the weirdest wedding ever.”

“Well, look on the bright side,” he said blandly.  “Play your cards right and you and Fa could end up snogging in a corner at Roni’s.”

“Shut up, you wanker,” she muttered, stomping off, and he snickered.

* * *

Roni had an apartment above the bar she owned, a pleasant two-bed with a spacious kitchen-diner and a large balcony, on which she grew potted herbs and chillies and a dwarf apple tree in a large terracotta urn.  Lacey had been there several times when she and Weaver had lived together as friends, drinking wine and whisky and listening to Roni’s extensive collection of music as they talked into the small hours.  Roni was making tea now, pouring hot water over bags of dried peppermint as Lacey sat at her kitchen table.  There were bags of baby supplies stacked in one corner: diapers and plastic-wrapped bibs and boxed toys, and Lacey eyed them curiously.

“I’m guessing the adoption you were talking about is going through, huh?” she asked, and Roni smiled, flicking wisps of dark hair off her face as she brought the cups to the table.

“A baby boy,” she said.  “Three months old. I pick him up next week.”

“Congratulations,” said Lacey, taking her tea.  “What are you calling him?”

“Henry.”  Roni sat down opposite, dark eyes soft and a smile still curving her lips.  “I hired someone to cover in the bar. Something tells me I’m gonna be pretty busy at home for awhile.”

“Yeah, well, if you have any tips, let me know,” said Lacey dryly, cupping her hands around her tea.  Roni eyed her.

“Maybe they can have playdates,” she suggested.  “You know what you’re having yet?”

Lacey shook her head.

“Got a preference?”

“Human, I guess.”  She pulled a face. “Honestly, at the moment I’m trying not to think about it too much.  Too scary.”

“Well, at least you have Rafe to support you,” said Roni.  “How come you didn’t come back earlier? He would have helped, you know.”

“I know,” sighed Lacey.  “I know, I just - I was kind of pretending it wasn’t happening.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m wondering if he’s doing the same.”

Roni snorted quietly, picking up her tea.

“Are you kidding?  Seems to me like he’s getting your entire future planned out.”

“I doubt it’s the future he wanted,” muttered Lacey, and Roni set down her cup, leaning on the table and fixing her with dark eyes.

“He could’ve just given you child support,” she said flatly.  “Instead he offers to marry you, give you a good home, a decent standard of living and everything that goes along with that.  Did he even ask you for a paternity test when the kid’s born?”

Lacey shook her head, and Roni sat back, folding her arms.

“So he’s done all that without you even proving the kid’s his?”

“I don’t sleep around!” snapped Lacey.  “It’s his baby. But we had a one-night-stand, that was _it_!  It’s not like we were ever _together_!”

“Didn’t you take off right after?” asked Roni.  “What do you think would have happened if you’d stuck around?”

“I dunno,” said Lacey.  “Awkwardness and - and strained conversations while he tries to work out why the hell he did it.”

Roni nodded slowly, and sat forward again.

“Sounds to me like you’d already made your mind up he didn’t want you,” she said, more gently.  “That he _couldn’t_ want you.  Honey, I get it, I do.  Low self-esteem’s a fucking bitch, but you have more than yourself to think about right now.  You need to give things a chance, right?”

"I'm not - great - at letting people in," said Lacey uncomfortably.  "Or, you know, forming meaningful relationships or any of that shit.  How the hell can I be a - a _wife_?  I can barely say the word!  It sounds like something someone way older and more mature than me would be, you know?"

"And 'mother' doesn't?"

Lacey's mouth twisted.

"Like I said," she whispered.  "Trying not to think about it."

Roni sighed, raising her eyes to the ceiling.

“Look, it took both of you to make this baby,” she said.  “Clearly you liked him enough to fuck him, so can you at least _try_ to make an effort to be happy?”

“He’s only doing it because he feels sorry for me,” mumbled Lacey.

“So what?”

“So, I don’t want him to feel _obligated_ , that’s what.”

Roni fixed her with a look.

“He got you pregnant,” she said.  “Of course he feels obligated. He’s a decent guy, whether he believes it or not.”

“I _know_ that…”

“So it’s time to pull up your big girl pants and make a life with him,” said Roni.  “For the sake of your child, if nothing else.”

Lacey shifted uncomfortably.

“What if I don’t know how?” she asked.  “What if I just end up hurting him? That’s the last thing I want.”

“Try having a little faith in yourself.”

Lacey snorted, and Roni sighed impatiently.

“Well, sitting here whining about it isn’t gonna solve anything,” she said.  “Just try. Take a honeymoon. Even if it’s just a couple of days out of town. Take those two days. A fresh start. A new life. It’s more than a lot of people get.”

Lacey shifted in her seat, her mouth twisting.

“I’m not used to staying in one place too long,” she said.  “I’m not sure I’d feel safe, you know?”

“There’s safety in being settled, too,” said Roni.  “There’s safety in family, and friends, and community.  Don’t let your past dictate your future, okay? People can change.  Life can be _awesome_.”

Lacey smiled slightly at that, and glanced down at her tea, watching the ripples on the surface, the liquid a pale olive green.

“Okay,” she said.  “I’ll try.”

“Good.”  Roni sat back, sipping her tea.  “So are you and I going shopping for honeymoon underwear, or what?”

* * *

Weaver walked along the hospital corridor, his footsteps seeming too loud on the tiles.  At that hour, the ward was relatively calm, the muted sounds of the intercom and the beeping of machines barely registering in his brain.  He reached the room he was seeking, opening up the door and halting in the doorway as he saw that he wasn’t the first visitor.

David Nolan lay motionless in the hospital bed, a blue cotton sheet pulled over him and tubes snaking away from his body to machines at the side of the bed.  He looked the same as when he had first been put in this bed, one terrible night four months earlier.  Weaver had cried that night for the first time in years, weeping from guilt and grief.  Until Lacey had sought to comfort him, of course.  Funny how things worked out.

Snow, Nolan’s wife, looked up from her place at his side.  A stroller was parked beside her, their baby son, Neal, fast asleep with a knitted hat pulled down over his head.  Snow’s eyes narrowed beneath short, dark hair, her mouth pursing a little.

“I just came to see how he was,” said Weaver.

“Well, he’s pretty much the same as yesterday,” she said bluntly.  “Or every other day he’s been in here.  What exactly were you expecting?”

“A miracle, I guess,” he said simply, and Snow looked away.

Weaver stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

“Look,” he said quietly.  “You were right.  What you said that night.  I was reckless.”

She turned her head back slowly, the artificial light gleaming on her hair.  There was anger and resentment in her eyes, and he couldn’t blame her.  But he had known Snow for several years, and he suspected she hated holding onto anger, however much he might deserve it.  He took a step forward.

“You were right when you said the job was everything to me,” he went on.  “You were right when you said I cared about nothing else, that getting the job done was all that mattered.  You were right when you said I had nothing to lose, that if I died no one would miss me.”

She lowered her eyes at that, her mouth flattening.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” she said quietly.  “I was angry and heartbroken, and I’m sorry.”

“No, it was the truth,” he insisted.  “If I’d gotten my brains blown out there would have been no one to mourn me but a bunch of cops and the local bartender.  Not like David, right?  He has a wife and a son and people that love him.  He has a family.  He’s the best person I’ve ever known, and if I could have traded places with him and let him go home with you that night, I would have.”

She looked up at him again, her eyes softening a little.

“I get it now,” he said gently.  “I just found out I’m gonna be a father, and I get it.  I have to change.  I _will_ change.”

Her eyes had widened, her mouth opened in confusion.

“You’re - you’re having a baby?” she said, clearly puzzled.  “But—”

“Lacey’s pregnant,” he explained.  “She came back, and we’re getting married.”

“Oh.”  Snow blinked rapidly.  “I - I didn’t realise you two were an item.”

“We’re not,” he said dryly.  “Or at least, we weren’t.  Not really.  This is all new to both of us.”

He sighed, running a hand over his face as the enormity of his change in circumstances hit him like a punch to the gut.  Snow seemed unsure of what to say, but as always, slipped easily into making polite conversation.

“Then I guess congratulations are in order,” she said.  “When is she due?”

“August.”

“Well, Neal will have grown out of his newborn things by then,” she said.  “Tell her she’s welcome to them.”

“That’s kind of you.”

“And if she has any questions about pregnancy and birth, she can call me anytime,” she added, and Weaver smiled faintly.

“I’ll tell her,” he said.  “I think she could use your experience.  I’m reading a lot of baby websites, but I feel like I haven’t a bloody clue what I’m doing.”

She almost smiled at that.

“I’d also suggest taking some time for each other,” she said.  “David and I always tried to have some alone-time whenever we could.  You won’t have a minute to yourself when the baby comes, believe me.  So you have to remember you’re a couple as well as prospective parents.”

“A couple,” he said flatly.  “Yeah.  Kind of a work in progress.”

“You’re getting married,” she pointed out.

“Not sure an unplanned pregnancy and a hasty wedding to a workaholic arsehole twice her age was exactly what Lacey intended to do with her life.”

Snow gave him a look at that, but it was more sympathetic than judgemental.

“Sometimes these things are meant to be,” was all she said.  “Are you going on honeymoon?”

Weaver sighed.

“No,” he said tiredly.  “She didn’t seem keen, and we haven’t had time to arrange anything, anyway.”

Snow nodded, pursing her lips.

“Well, you could always borrow our cabin,” she suggested.  “We keep it stocked, and someone goes in once a week to clean the place.  I know it’s not much, but—”

“No, it’s - it’s perfect,” he said.  “I’ll see if I can convince her to go.”

“Come by tomorrow and you can pick up the key.”

“Thank you.”  He hesitated.  “Look, I meant what I said.  If I could have changed places with David and let him enjoy being a father, I would have.”

“Well, like I said, maybe things are meant to be,” she said, with a sigh, glancing across at the motionless body of her husband.  “We’ll get through this, and we’ll be stronger for it.”

“I admire your optimism,” he said.   _I wished I shared it._

He didn’t voice his doubts, but Snow seemed to sense them anyway, and smiled slightly.

“Where there’s life, there’s hope,” she said.  “I’ve always thought that hope is the most powerful thing in the world.  I _believe_ he’ll be okay.  I _believe_ he’ll come back to us.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” he said.  “And when he does, tell him he’s welcome to punch me in the face.”

“Oh, I will.”

They shared the briefest of smiles at that, and Weaver nodded to her, casting a final glance at Nolan before stepping out of the room and leaving the little family in peace.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last time, past!Weaver and Lacey planned their hasty wedding, which came as a shock to their friends. Here's what happened next

_Three years and eight months earlier_

Thursday was cold and bright, the ever-present rain banished and replaced by a startlingly clear blue sky, frost riming the iron railings by Weaver’s apartment.  Roni had offered to let Lacey stay with her the night before the wedding, and she had shrugged and accepted, although she added that she didn’t believe in superstition, and she didn’t suppose that seeing each other before they did the deed would make any difference in the long run.  Weaver himself had spent the evening alone, having picked up the key to the Nolans’ cabin and gotten Lacey’s agreement to go there. Merida and Fa had gotten them presents, which sat unopened on the kitchen counter, awaiting their return from their brief honeymoon. He had packed food for the three days they planned to stay, picking up a bottle of champagne in the store before remembering that Lacey was pregnant, and pushing it back onto the shelf.  

He hadn’t quite had time to get used to the fact that there was a baby on the way, and he thought perhaps that his subconscious was trying to pretend there wasn’t.  Not that he wasn’t happy at the idea, but he had seen too much of the darker side of humanity not to be worried about what any child of his might grow up to experience.  He told himself that he’d have to do the best he could to protect them, and pushed the worries from his mind, concentrating on the first step of his new life.

In the end he had taken Lacey’s suggestion regarding his wedding outfit, and was wearing jeans, although they were new and black and fitted him well.  He wore them with a blue shirt and dark jacket, his heavy boots polished to a shine and his rings cleaned. Pushing each one onto its finger in turn, he eyed the space on his left hand, where a new piece of jewellery would soon sit.  He had taken Lacey to choose the wedding rings the day before, matching bands in white gold with Celtic knotwork running around them. She had refused his offer of an engagement ring, saying bluntly that it was stupid to spend money on something just to conform to other people’s expectations, but she seemed to like the wedding ring.  So there was that.

He checked his reflection in the mirror, running a hand over his freshly-shaven chin and sighing to himself.  Not exactly the stuff of bloody dreams, but he’d have to do. A knock on the bedroom door made him look around, and it creaked open to reveal Merida’s red curls.

“You ready?” she asked.  “We should probably get going.”

The ceremony was being held in the waterfront garden of a hotel owned by a friend of Roni’s.  The hotel itself was undergoing renovation, and what would have been a pleasant silence was punctuated by the banging of hammers and the whistling of workmen as they replaced the main staircase inside.  Weaver thought the garden was pretty, a well-kept lawn bisected by a path leading to a wrought-iron pergola, thick with climbing plants. The plants were white with frost, and he was privately concerned that he and Lacey might freeze to death before they could say their vows, but he kept his mouth shut.  It was only fifteen minutes, after all.

He waited with Fa and Merida, shifting from foot to foot in the cold air, and glanced around as Lacey came out with Roni at her side.  She had bought a new dress with the money he had given her, a simple, pretty thing in pale blue with a full skirt, a white faux fur shawl keeping the cold from her shoulders and a posy of white roses in her hands.  Her legs were in white stockings, her shoes the same pale blue as the dress, with a strap at the ankle.  His eyes widened at the sight of her, hair teased into curls and tied up, a few snaking loose to curl around her smooth cheeks and the nape of her neck, her lips deep pink. She ran her eyes over him as she got nearer, and one side of her mouth drew up.

“You look good, Detective,” she said.

“You look beautiful,” he said honestly, and her smile grew.

“Okay lovebirds, let’s get you idiots married,” said Merida loudly.

* * *

It was over so quickly it almost made his head spin.  He stumbled a little over the vows, but he meant every word, and Lacey shot him a brief smile before she said her own, although she stuttered over the ‘love’ part.  The ring was cold and unfamiliar on his finger, and he unconsciously rubbed at it with his thumb as Roni spoke the closing words and told him to kiss his bride. Lacey’s lips were soft and cool, and he touched his forehead to hers in a brief gesture of affection as he heard the clicking sounds of Fa and Merida taking pictures.  And then it was done. He was a married man.

They went back to Roni’s for drinks, but he stuck with coffee while the others downed whisky.  Lacey had hot chocolate, a swirl of cream with a sprinkling of cinnamon on top, and when she had almost finished, Weaver went to find Roni, handing her a sheaf of bills.

“Drinks are on me until that runs out,” he said.  “I think we’ll get away.”

“Well, I hope you have a good time,” she said, as she took the money.  “I’m sure you will. I think you two will be okay.”

“Yeah,” he said, glancing across to where Lacey was staring into her empty cup.  “I hope so. I’ll try to make her happy.”

“I can draw you a useful diagram, if it would help,” she said, tucking the cash into her pocket and winking at him, and he sent her a look.

“Thank you, but I think I can remember the basics.”

“Well, I guess that’s a start,” she observed.  “Don’t forget to be happy yourself, while you’re at it.”

He grinned, glancing towards the bar, where Merida was talking animatedly to Fa with extravagant hand gestures.

“Do me a favour,” he said, jerking his head at them.  “Try to get one of those two to ask the other out, they’re driving me up the bloody wall.”

“Since I’m playing Cupid today I’ll give it my best shot, but I warn you that of all the useless lesbians I’ve met, these two are by far the worst,” she said dryly.  “Now go bang your new wife.”

Weaver gave her a flat look, walking over to where Lacey was staring into space.  She glanced across at him.

“Are you wanting to head off?” she asked.

“We can stay longer, if you like.”

She shook her head.

“I’m good.  How long’s the drive?”

“An hour or so, depending on the traffic,” he said.

“No point in hanging around, then.”

She pushed to her feet, grasping his hand and calling goodbye to the others before tugging him towards the doorway.  Whoops from Merida followed them out, which made Lacey grin a little, but once outside she shivered in the cold air, and he quickly shrugged off his jacket, putting it around her shoulders.

“Car’s just around the corner,” he said, and she tucked her arm through his as they walked swiftly.

It was a relief to get out of the bitter wind, and there was silence for awhile as Weaver drove out of the city.  Lacey fiddled with the radio, eventually finding some music she liked, and settled back as the car turned onto a quieter road, tall pines flanking the edges and faint remnants of snow still visible in amongst the trees.  Lacey shifted in her seat, glancing across at him.

“So,” she said.  “That was pretty painless, right?”

“Were you expecting ordeal by fire, or something?” he remarked, and she chuckled.

“I just meant it was - quick,” she said.  “No fuss, no expense, and we’re no less married than the people paying forty thousand bucks so their guests can have personalised party favours, or whatever.”

He grinned at that.

“I don’t think we’re personalised party favour kind of people.”

“Got that right.”

There was silence for a moment, and she looked out of the window, late afternoon sunlight sending flickering rays through the dark trunks of trees.

“You’ve been to this place before, right?” she said.

“Many times,” he confirmed.  “If Nolan and I had free time in the summer, we’d come up here, bring some meat to barbecue and drink beer by the lake.  Snow always brought whatever she’d been baking that week, and we’d get a little drunk and listen to music and talk about all sorts of crap.  It’s a nice little place. Few other cabins nearby, but enough space that you feel as though you’re on your own.”

“I’m guessing it’s probably deserted at this time of year anyway.”

“Probably,” he acknowledged, and glanced across at her.  “You don’t mind, do you? I could have driven us down to California, or something.”

“I don’t mind,” she said, after a pause.  “A week ago I was bunked down on a packing crate, so it’s really no big deal.  I wasn’t expecting a honeymoon. I wasn’t expecting a _wedding_ , let’s face it.”

“What were you expecting?” he asked curiously, glancing across at her, and she shrugged, mouth pursing a little.

“Don’t know,” she admitted.  “I - I didn’t really think things through.  I just knew I had to come back.”

“Well, I’m glad you did,” he said, and turned the wheel into a long, winding bend as the car made its way up a hill.  “It’s not too much further.”

He wanted to ask her about their time apart, why she had left in the middle of the night and not contacted him until four months later.  He wanted to ask about the night their child was conceived, whether she had regretted what they had done. Whether she had hated him for it.  He couldn’t find the words, though, and it didn’t seem the time, so he kept silent, his eyes on the road, and before too long he was turning off onto a narrow track covered in pine needles.  The track wound downhill amongst dark stands of pine trees, and turned out onto a flat, wide area where log cabins nestled in amongst the trees, the lake beyond catching the last rays of the sun in flickers of orange.

Weaver pulled up outside the Nolans’ place, turning off the engine.  Lacey had been correct; the other cabins seemed deserted, and she was out of the car before he, nose raised to sniff the pine-scented air.  He took the overnight bag from the trunk, handing over hers and picking up a cardboard box of food before nudging the trunk shut. Lacey took the key from him, the heels of her shoes sinking into the mulch as she headed for the steps to the porch.  It had started to snow, large flakes drifting slowly to the ground around them, and she shivered as she looked around.

“Bloody freezing,” she said, and unlocked the door.

“Give me a few minutes and I can light a fire,” he said.

The cabin was cold, but at least they were out of the bitter wind.  He set the box of food on a small table, then went to the hearth, looking around for kindling.

Lacey left him to it, carrying the box of food he had brought into the small kitchen area.  It had a fridge (empty), hotplate and microwave, and cupboards filled with canned goods, dried rice and pasta, and boxes of cereal.  There were plates and cups, glasses and cutlery, and she spent a couple of minutes poking around before putting anything perishable into the fridge and heading out of the lounge area into a small, dark corridor.  Flicking on the lights, she found four doors, the first leading outside to the back porch. Closing it with a shiver, she tried the next, which revealed a bathroom, complete with tub and shower. Next to it was a bedroom with a wood-burning stove and a king bed covered in a pale blue woollen throw embroidered at the edges with tiny silk flowers.  She dropped her bag onto it, peeking at the room next door and finding another, smaller bedroom.

From the sound of it, Weaver was still making the fire, so she tugged his jacket around herself and tried the back door again.  The porch was sheltered, two benches set each side of a small table with a view out over the lake,and she stood there for awhile, letting the cold air sink into her and watching her breath huff out in clouds of white as she scanned the quiet landscape.  She imagined that in the summer it must be nice to sit there and watch the sunset through the trees as the heat of the day faded and the chirps of birds were replaced by the buzz and whine of insects and the croaking of frogs. Now the woods were cold and silent, the snow soft as feathers against her cheeks as it fell, ice forming in pale fronds at the edges of the lake, where patches of old snow still clung.

“You’ll catch your death out here.”

Weaver’s voice behind her made her jump, and his hands steadied her, warm on her waist.

“It’s kind of pretty,” she said.  “In a desolate sort of way. Like it’s all sleeping.  It’s colder up here than in the city, huh?”

“Winter was longer than usual this year,” he remarked.  “And it clings on in the mountains. I could make you hot cocoa, if you like.”

“You got a shot of bourbon to go in that?”

She sent him a smile over her shoulder, to show she was joking, and he grinned.

“No can do,” he said.  “But I don’t mind joining you in sobriety for the next five months, if it would help.”

“Misery loves company?” she teased.

“Marriage is a partnership.”

“I’ll remind you of that when it’s four a.m. and the baby’s crying.”

“Feel free.”

She felt a rush of affection for him, and turned in his arms to twine hers around his neck, his jacket falling from her shoulders.  He was still smiling, and his head wobbled a little, as though he was extremely satisfied with something. His body was very warm, and she inched closer, until she was pressed up against him.

“So,” she said.  “Married. On honeymoon.  Can mean only one thing.”

She grinned wickedly, and his smile grew, his eyes glinting.

“I did say you didn’t have to share a bed with me if you didn’t want to.”

Lacey gave him a flat look.

“You think I bought new underwear for no reason?” she asked.  “If I can’t have a drink to celebrate getting hitched, I’m at least expecting an orgasm or two.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good.”

“You have to tell me if you don’t like something, though,” he added.  "In fact, tell me if you  _do_ like something, too."

“Oh, I will.”  She raised her chin.  “You can kiss me if you like.”

Weaver’s smile broadened, and he bent his head, his mouth finding hers.  It was harder than the kiss he had given her to seal their vows, and she was snatched back to the night they had last shared, to the night when he had laid her down and kissed her like it was his last night on earth.  To the night when he had made her see stars. It made her breath catch as he drew back, and she licked her lips, catching the faint taste of him.

“Take me to bed,” she whispered.

If he remembered that she had said the same thing to him four months ago, he didn’t react beyond a faint smile and a nod.  He took a step back, holding the door open to let her inside, and closed and locked it behind them. Lacey made her way through to the bedroom, noting that he had lit a fire in the wood-burning stove, flames crackling around the split logs in there.  He had turned on the two bedside lamps that sat on the matching nightstands, and a warm glow was filling the room as the heat from the fire began to build. She went to rummage in her bag, taking out a hairbrush and crossing to the little dresser, where she proceeded to take the pins from her hair where Roni had teased her curls into a loose bun.

Weaver closed the door behind him with a faint click, waiting as she brushed out her hair until it shone, reddish highlights gleaming in the lamplight  After a moment of standing there, unsure of what to do, he bent to unlace his boots, tugging them off with his socks and setting them next to the door. The wooden floor was cold beneath his bare toes, but the room was starting to warm, and Lacey let the faux fur shawl slip from her shoulders, draping it over the back of the single chair that sat before the dresser.  He watched his wife in the mirror as she removed her earrings, and she turned her head a little, sweeping her hair to one side as she glanced over her shoulder at him.   _My wife.  She’s my wife.  How the fuck did that happen?_

“Unzip me?”

Weaver stepped closer, reaching up to touch her, fingertips brushing the nape of her neck and making her shiver.  He drew the zipper down, the sound seeming loud in the silence of the room, and she met his eyes in the mirror as he pushed the dress from her shoulders, gently drawing the cap sleeves down her arms.  He pushed the dress over her hips until it pooled on the floor at her feet as she stepped out of it, and let out a tiny growl as her body was revealed to him, pale curves hugged by powder-blue lace, the darker peaks of her nipples showing through.  Her legs were perfection, stockings topped with white lace clinging to them, and he watched as she flicked open the buckles to her heeled shoes and kicked them off before straightening up, the light gleaming on her pale skin.

Lacey sucked in a breath as he cupped her gently, and he bent his head to kiss her shoulder, one warm hand sliding down to where her belly curved outwards a little.  She could feel the slight roughness on his chin where fresh stubble was starting to grow, a contrast to the softness of his lips. Cold air kissed her skin, raising goosebumps on her arms, and she rubbed her head against his, closing her eyes as she felt his hands slide back up to her shoulders, teasing the thin straps of her bra.

“Take it off,” she said softly.

He kissed her again, hands dropping to the catch at the back, and she waited patiently as he fumbled with it.

“Fucking thing,” he muttered, and Lacey grinned.

“You want me to do it?”

“No, it’s fine, I — bloody hell, woman, does this thing have a combination lock?”

Lacey rolled her eyes, reaching behind to unhook the bra and let it fall, and Weaver grunted.

“Well, I guess you’re used to it.”

“Practice makes perfect,” she said with a grin, turning to face him, and her grin widened as he ran his eyes over her.  “Come on, Detective, warm me up, would you?”

He reached up to cup her face, fingers sliding into her hair, and Lacey moaned as their mouths met, his lips warm and soft.  She went to work on the buttons of his shirt, plucking them open and sliding her hands inside over his naked chest. He was smooth and firm, just as she remembered, and she tugged him a little closer, Weaver groaning into her mouth as the kiss deepened.  He let his hands drop, shrugging out of the shirt and letting it fall, and broke the kiss, his breath coming hard and his chest heaving as he pressed his brow to hers. His hands ran down her back and over her buttocks, tugging her against him so that his belt buckle dug into her belly, and he pulled his mouth from hers to kiss down her neck, sending a shudder of pleasure through her.

He bent to scoop her up in his arms, tossing her onto the bed, and Lacey pushed up on her elbows, watching as he unbuckled his belt and flicked open the buttons of his jeans.  He let them fall, and she licked her lips, running her eyes over the lean lines of his arms and chest and the slight softness of his belly, watching the silver chain around his neck glinting in the light.  His nipples were hard, dark peaks, and she wanted to run her tongue over them, to taste his skin and breathe him in as he pushed inside her. He crawled onto the bed, and his eyes were dark and deep, searching out hers as he reached for her, his fingers sliding over one cheek and into her hair.

Lacey moaned into his mouth as he laid her down and kissed her hard, his tongue pushing in between her lips, stabbing and stroking, his hands caressing her face, the chain he wore cold against the base of her throat.  She let her fingers slide up his back, stroking over hot skin, need for him burning through her, and he shifted his body to the side, one hand sliding down to cup her breast. She groaned and arched upwards, pushing against his palm, and he kissed down her throat, tongue stroking over her skin as his mouth sought her nipple.  Lacey gasped as he sucked at her, letting her head roll back against the pillows, and she opened her legs a little, eager for his touch.

Weaver swirled his tongue over her nipple, tasting a faint hint of roses on her skin from the lotion she used.  She was breathing hard, her chest heaving, and he kissed lower, lips brushing over the slight curve of her belly where his child was growing.  He pressed tender kisses to her, shivering as he felt her fingers stroke through his hair, and slid his hands up her hips to grasp the thin waistband of her lace thong.  Lacey lifted her hips a little, allowing him to draw it down, and he let out a low growl as she was revealed to him, the soft cleft between her legs glistening with fluid.

He slipped the thong down her legs and off at her feet, pushing his boxers down over his hips and tossing them aside before kneeling between her legs and sliding his hands up her inner thighs.  The lace of her stocking-tops scraped against his palms, and he pushed her thighs apart, bending to run his tongue along the crease at the top of her thigh. Lacey let out a gasp, fingers tightening in his hair, and he nuzzled her with his nose, breathing in the scent of her arousal.  His tongue flickered out to catch a taste of her, stroking up between her legs, and she let out a cry, arching her back.

He let out a low groan of pleasure at the taste of her, salt and musk on his lips, and swept his tongue over her flesh, sliding in between her soft folds, the tip just brushing the hard pearl of her clit.  Lacey moaned, nails scraping his scalp, and he let his tongue swirl in circles, stroking against her, feeling her move beneath him as he found his rhythm. His hand slid up her inner thigh, one finger slipping through wet flesh to tease her, pushing inside her, and Lacey bent one knee, sliding her foot across his shoulders, letting his mouth reach more of her.  He groaned and buried his face in her, finger pushing deep into her soft, wet heat as his tongue swirled and stroked, and he could hear her panting, could feel her tensing beneath him. He licked her, the flat of his tongue scraping her over and over, and Lacey jerked against him with a cry as she came, hot fluid bathing his tongue as he drew out the finger and sucked her pleasure from it.  He pushed his tongue inside her, groaning as he licked up every drop, and Lacey stroked his hair with shaking hands, gasping for breath.

Encouraged by her response, he smiled against her skin, pressing kisses to her, lips trailing across to her hip before making his way back up her body.  He was almost painfully hard, his balls full and aching, and the urge to get inside her was overwhelming. She was watching him through heavy-lidded eyes, perfect breasts rising and falling with her breath, and his mouth fastened over her nipple as she moaned in pleasure.  He sucked at her, tongue circling as his lips tugged at her skin, and he let the nipple slip from his mouth, glistening with saliva as he kissed his way upwards to nip at her earlobe.

Lacey closed her eyes, skin still tingling from her climax, enjoying the feel of his touch and the scent of him drifting into her nose.  Their first time had been half-drunk and frenzied, messy and desperate and wonderful, and she was looking forward to taking some time with him, to exploring and reconnecting and learning with him.  Weaver shifted, moving to the side of her and sliding one hand down over her belly to slip into the slippery heat between her legs. Lacey moaned, head pushing back against the pillows as he slipped a finger inside her.  He pushed in another, sinking up to the knuckles, thumb flickering over her clit, and she let out a cry, pushing against him.

“That’s good!” she whispered.  “Oh God, give me more! Make it harder!”

He pushed another finger into her, stretching her, sliding deep, and she moaned at the feel of it, remembering how it felt to have him inside her.  The fingers began to thrust in and out, his thumb circling her clit, and she could feel the throb of her pulse as her arousal grew, sensations rising up within her.  His tongue teased her ear, his breath hot, sending shivers through her as he pushed and thrust.

“You feel fucking incredible, Lacey!” he whispered.  “Let me feel you come! I want it running down my fingers!”

She moaned, pushing against his hand, and he quickened his pace a little, fingers sliding in and out of her, his thumb sending jolts of sensation through her with every pass over her clit.  She matched his pace, hips bucking as she rode his hand, her moans increasing in pitch as she felt a wave of pleasure rise up, and she broke with a loud cry, bliss washing over her. He buried his face in her neck with a low groan, lips sucking at her skin as his movements slowed, and then pushed up on one elbow, gently drawing out his fingers with a wet, sucking sound.

Lacey tried to catch her breath as she watched him slip the fingers into his mouth and suck her juices from them, his eyes meeting hers.  She licked her lips, glancing down to where he was pressed against her hip in a rigid line, and reached up to touch his face, fingers raking through his hair.

“I want you,” she whispered.

He sent her a brief smile, and shifted position again, one knee lifting over hers until he was lying between her legs.  She let her hands run over him, fingers catching in the chain around his neck and trailing over his chest, and his jaw tightened as she brushed his nipples.  Weaver kissed along her jaw, mouth finding hers as one hand cradled her head. His skin was damp and sticky with her fluids, his stubble scraping her chin as his lips pushed hers apart, and she let her tongue stroke his, feeling him hard against her thigh.  Her heart was thumping, and she shifted her hips a little, trying to capture the head of his cock. He took his weight on one arm and reached between them, hand sliding down between her legs to grasp himself, and she let out a sound of approval as he pushed up against her.

Weaver was lost in the feel of her, the heat of her skin and the sheen of sweat forming between them, the firm roundness of her breasts pressing against his chest.  He was pushing against the soft, wet heat between her legs, and Lacey let out a tiny sound of pleasure as he eased inside her, the sensation making him grit his teeth.  He let out a long, low groan as he sank into her, flesh like silk against him, and she lifted a knee, letting him push deeper.

 _“Fuck!”_ he gasped, and she let out a throaty giggle, eyes sparkling as they met his.

He slipped a hand behind her knee, tugging it higher, thrusting into her as deep as he could go, his balls rubbing against her as he pushed inside, and Lacey wrapped her legs around him, tilting her head until her mouth caught his.  A low, bass hum rumbled out of him at the taste of her, and he moved his hips in a slow circle, rubbing against her, sliding in and out. Lacey pulled her mouth free, head rolling back as she moaned.

“Fuck, that’s good!” she breathed.  “Harder! Fuck me harder!”

He almost lost his mind, and bit down hard on the inside of his cheeks to try to keep it together.  Lacey was arching upwards, thighs gripping him tight and the lace of her stockings scratching pleasantly, and he ran his hands up her arms, grasping her wrists and pushing them into the pillows as he thrust into her.  She moaned, writhing, and he ran his tongue up the length of her throat to taste the salt of her sweat. Her moans were growing louder, and he could feel himself nearing his peak, pleasure stealing through him and making his skin tingle.  He bit down into her neck, swiping his tongue over the bite and kissing up to her ear.

“Fuck, you feel amazing!” he whispered.  “Gotta come, Lacey! Gotta come inside you!”

Lacey could feel him deep within her, thick and rigid, rubbing against her as he thrust, and she held her breath, moving her hips against him, increasing the friction, willing him to come.  She was close, she knew it, and she pushed up against him, squeezing him tight as his body trembled on the edge, the muscles of his arms and chest taut and straining. She felt him come, a loud groan bursting from him as his cock pulsed and heat seemed to flood into her, and she cried out as she followed him, pumping her hips, pulling every drop from him.  His hands were tight on her wrists, his thrusts fast and shallow, and she let a wave of pleasure drench her, electricity coursing over her skin. He finally slowed and stopped, letting out a deep, shuddering gasp, and released her wrists, letting his head drop.

For a moment there was silence except for their panting, ragged breathing.  The room seemed very warm, the heat between them making Lacey feel lazy and contented, and she smiled, reaching up to stroke her fingers through his damp hair as they tried to catch their breath.

“Well,” she murmured.  “Married life’s okay so far, I guess.”

He raised his head at that, a lazy grin pulling his mouth up at one corner, and pushed himself up on his elbows a little more so that he could look down at her.  She could still feel him inside her, but he was shrinking, and she unwound her legs from around his back, letting him slip from her. He was staring at her with a softness in his expression, a deep affection that inexplicably made her want to push him away, to run and not look back. She licked dry lips, heart thumping, and told herself to calm the fuck down.

Weaver couldn’t remember ever feeling as contented as he did right then.  Their bodies were hot and sticky, slippery with sweat and their own fluids.  Lacey’s dark curls were spread out on the pillow, her cheeks flushed and her lips swollen from their kisses, and he thought she was the beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life.  His entire body was still humming from his orgasm, his limbs heavy and loose, and he reached up to stroke a stray curl from her cheek, leaning in to press his brow to hers. Affection burst up out of him, and he nuzzled her nose with his own.

“Oh, Lacey!” he whispered.  “I’m glad you came back. I missed you.”

Lacey seemed to freeze momentarily, and then she pushed at him, turning her head away from his, her mouth twisting.

“Don’t - make it weird,” she muttered.

Blinking in confusion, he rolled to the side and let her slip from the bed, watching as she snatched up his shirt and tugged it on before ducking out of the bedroom.  The bathroom door closed with a click of the lock, and he sat there for a moment, trying to work out what he’d done to make her bolt and coming up with very little that made any sense.  Shaking his head, he got up, snatching up his boxers and pulling them on, along with his jeans. He really wanted a drink, but he’d promised to lay off the booze with her, and so he figured he’d make that hot cocoa after all.  Perhaps it would stop him over-analysing everything.

She was still in the bathroom when he went out, the relative chill of the corridor making him shiver.  The lounge was warmer, the fire having settled down into a pleasant blaze, and he put another couple of logs on it to keep it going, poking them into place and making sparks jump and dance.  He could hear water running in the bathroom, and after a moment Lacey came through, rubbing lotion into her hands and not quite meeting his eyes.

“You okay?” he asked carefully, and she nodded, shifting from foot to foot.

She seemed to be having some sort of internal conversation with herself, and he waited for her to say what was on her mind.  A piece of wood snapped in the fire, and Lacey finally turned on her toes to face him.

“Okay, here’s the thing,” she said.  “I - uh - I have a request. It’s - it’s a little thing, but I think I need to tell you about it, okay?”

“Go on,” he said, and she took a deep breath.

“I know you care about me,” she said.  “I know this wasn’t what you planned, what you wanted, but I know you care about me.  I care about you too, I do. We were friends before anything else. We’re _still_ friends, and - and we’ll be more than that, I know it.”

He gave her a tiny smile.

“Yeah, I do care about you,” he agreed.  “And no, maybe this wasn’t what either of us planned when we first met, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make it work, okay?  I _want_ to make it work.  For both of us. For the baby.”

Lacey smiled a little, and there was a tenderness in her eyes he was not used to seeing.  She took a step closer.

“You’re a good man,” she said softly.  “And I’m happy to be married to you, Rafe, I am.  I’m gonna try to be a good wife, and a good mother, and I want to make _you_ happy, too.  I want to make you coffee in the mornings and share your bed and fall asleep beside you after a night of awesome sex, I _swear_ it.”

He sensed that she hadn’t finished, that there was something else she wanted to say.  Something she was steeling herself for. He was racking his brains to think what it might be, and she took a deep breath, raising her chin.

“Just - please,” she said.  “Please. Don’t ever tell me you love me.”

He could feel his mouth fall open.  Whatever he had been expecting her to say, that wasn’t it.

“Okay,” he said, bewildered.  “Uh - why not?”

“Does it matter?” she asked.  “It’s just words, right?”

He opened and closed his mouth, but didn’t respond, and she nodded.

“Good,” she said, and stepped forward, stretching up on her toes to kiss him before dropping back on her heels with a grin on her face.  “You wanna have sex again?”

He stared at her, and shook his head numbly.

“I - uh - think I’ll make that cocoa.”

“Okay, cool.”  She ran her hands over his chest, still smiling.  “Come back to bed when it’s ready, I’m not done with you yet.”

She winked at him, and took a step back, turning to head for the bedroom, hips swaying as she walked.  He watched her go, his heart thumping hard in his chest, and realised that he barely understood a single thing about her.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last time in the present, Weaver had taken Tilly over to David Nolan's and was talking through his issues with Lacey.

_Present day_

* * *

David Nolan had always made good coffee, and Weaver cupped his hands around the mug in front of him, inhaling the warm, comforting scent of it as his elbows rested on the kitchen table.  Nolan was watching him, sipping at his coffee, and he put down his cup, sitting back in the wheelchair and fixing Weaver with a calm gaze.

“So,” said Nolan.  “What are you gonna do about Lacey?  And don’t tell me you’re going through with this divorce you don’t want, because that’s just crazy.”

“Well, it’s not like I can force her to stay with me, is it?” said Weaver, feeling weary.

“Not saying you should,” said Nolan.  “I’m just saying you should at least know why you’re getting divorced. You two have always been so close, what happened?”

“I don’t know.”  Weaver sat back, running his hands over his face.  “You say we’ve been close, but I don’t know. I’ve known her four years and it still feels like I don’t know who the hell she is.”

“So ask.”  Nolan sipped at his coffee again.  “What have you got to lose?”

Weaver shook his head, turning his attention back to his drink.  The kitchen door opening spared him having to answer, and Tilly bustled in with a large piece of paper in her hands.

“Daddy look, I drawed this!” she announced, slapping it on his lap.

Weaver picked her up, hauling her onto his knee with one arm while he grasped the drawing between the thumb and fingers of his other hand.  A black scrawl with spindly lines coming out of it, which Weaver suspected was a person, was on one side of the paper, with a mass of red and orange on the other.

“That’s fantastic,” he said, with enthusiasm.  “Is that a bonfire?”

She craned her neck to look at him, brows drawing down a little.

“It’s _Dragon_!” she said indignantly.

“Yes, of course,” he said, running a hand over his face.  “I’m sorry, sweetie. Daddy’s very tired, and it makes him blind and stupid.  Who’s that?”

He pointed at the black scrawl, and Tilly looked down at it.

“Dragon breathed fire on the _bad_ man,” she announced.  “Burned him all up.”

“That seems a little harsh, but perhaps he deserved it.”  Weaver bounced her on his knee, thoughts suddenly needling his brain.  “Is this the bad man you told me about the other day?”

She shrugged a little, then nodded.

“What did he do?”

Tilly pursed her lips, brow crinkling.

“Bad,” she said decidedly, smacking the paper, and Weaver grinned.

“You don’t know, you just have a hunch,” he guessed.  “Always trust your gut, sweetheart.”

“Goes squelch,” she announced, patting her belly, and he chuckled.

“Not quite what I meant, but okay.”  He kissed the top of her head. “Are you gonna draw some more for me and your Uncle David?”

“Okay.”  She looked up at him owlishly.  “I draw you and Mummy.”

She slipped from his lap and trotted from the room, the drawing flapping from one hand.  Weaver watched her go, stray thoughts needling his brain again. _Trust your gut._

He picked up his coffee, gulping some of it down, and caught Nolan’s eye.

“Hey, would you mind watching the kids alone for awhile?” he asked.  “I think you’re right. I think I need to talk to Lacey, and it would probably be best if Tilly wasn’t with us.”

Nolan seemed to relax a little, sinking back in his chair.

“Good,” he said sincerely.  “Take your time. And stay for dinner when you get back.  I’ll call Snow and tell her you and Tilly are joining us.”

Weaver nodded and drained his cup, clapping Nolan on the shoulder as he stood up.

“I owe you one,” he said quietly.  “See you later.”

* * *

He drove back into the city, frustration and bitterness welling up inside him.  What the hell was going on with her? What had happened to make her decide that she no longer wanted them to be a family?  Nolan was right: something had changed, and he was determined to get to the bottom of it. As usual, the prospect of a mystery to solve gave him a hit of adrenaline, a much-needed kick to the rear end to propel him out of the well of self-pity he had fallen into.  Now he had something to focus on. Now he had something to solve.

He parked up outside his old apartment building, hands resting on the wheel as he remembered the first time she had come there.  She had been homeless and out of work: a wary young thing with narrowed eyes and quick feet, poised on her toes as though she was about to flee any moment.  He had fed her Chinese, and she had eaten most of his as well as her own. Looking back, it had been then that they had become friends, that she had started to trust him. He wondered where that trust had gone.

Frustration warred with concern for her, and it made him edgy, slamming the car door when he got out and taking the stairs two at a time to reach the third floor.  He rapped quickly on the door before he could think about it, and there was the rattle of the chain as she opened it and peered out. She blinked in surprise, but said nothing, merely closing the door and taking off the chain to let him in.

“Where’s Tilly?” she asked, as he strode into the apartment.  “What happened?”

“Nolan’s watching her,” he said tersely.  “She’s fine, I just - I need to talk to you.”

“What about?”

Weaver turned to face her, trying to catch his breath.  She was wearing one of her little sweater dresses, dark purple wool hugging her curves, her hair bouncing around her shoulders. _Perfect.  She’s perfect.  God, I don’t want to lose her!_

“Did you file the papers yet?” he asked, and Lacey looked at him with narrowed eyes.

“Why?” she asked suspiciously.

“Would you answer me, please?” he demanded.  “Did you file the papers?”

“No,” she said, after a pause.  “Not yet. I - I had things to—”

“Let me see them,” he interrupted, holding out his hand.

“Why?” she asked again, and he sighed with impatience.

“Please.”

Lacey eyed him warily, but crossed to the little table where her purse sat, taking the folded sheaf of papers from it and holding it out.  Weaver took them, opened them up briefly, and nodded his head. All there, complete with his signature. Still missing hers. He refolded them, met Lacey’s eyes, and roughly tore the papers into pieces, tossing them aside.  Lacey let out a squeak of alarm.

“What are you _doing_?”

“What does it look like?” he snapped.  “I changed my mind!”

“No no no, you _can’t_!”

She sank down onto her heels, gathering up the pieces of paper, her lip trembling as she straightened up with them in her hands, spilling over her fingers.  Scraps of paper fluttered to the floor like confetti as she gazed up at him, her chest heaving and tears welling in her eyes.

“You’re gonna ruin _everything_!”

“What, more than getting a divorce when I don’t bloody want one?” he snapped.  “I’ll take my bloody chances!”

“No, you don’t _understand_ …”

“You’re right, I don’t bloody understand!” he said.  “I don’t understand because you won’t bloody talk to me! What is it, Lacey? What is it that’s making you do this? And don’t give me that ‘it’s just not working out’ _bullshit_!  This came out of the fucking _blue_ and if we’re really over I need answers, okay?  I need - I need _closure_!”

Lacey shook her head, two tears tracking their way down her cheeks.  The sight of them made his heart clench, but he resisted the urge to go to her, to take her in his arms and comfort her.  She closed her eyes, two more tears spilling over.

“Would you just fucking talk to me?” he demanded.  “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t tell you!” she blurted, and he growled in frustration.

“See, here we are _a-fucking-gain_!” he snapped.  “Not can’t tell.  _Won’t_ tell!  Whatever it is, why the hell do you think you can’t tell me?  We bloody well met when you were running from a _murder_ scene, for fuck’s sake!  We moved in together when your shit of a boss beat you up!  What, now you think that whatever crap is happening in your life, I won’t be able to help?  Give me a fucking break!”

“I don’t _want_ your help!”

“Well, I don’t want to live apart from my wife and daughter!” he said angrily.  “I guess we’ll both have to be fucking adults and deal with things that make us unhappy, alright?  I don’t want to lose the love of my fucking _life_ over something I don’t even fucking understand!”

Lacey stared at him, wide-eyed, and he wanted to sigh. _Right.  I used the L-word.  Ah, bollocks to it!_

“Don’t look at me like I just insulted your entire existence!” he snapped.  “I’ve spent the past four years not telling you how I fucking feel, and I’m sick of it!  If it’s over, if _we’re_ over, then what the hell do I have to lose? I’m gonna tell you what I think and how I feel, and I want you to do the same, okay?  I need to _know_ , don’t you understand that?”

“Why can’t you just let me _go_?” she pleaded, and Weaver shook his head vehemently.

“I love you!” he snapped.  “I don’t - I don’t _care_ if you don’t want to fucking hear it, Lacey, I fucking love you! And you know I love Tilly. You two are the most important things in this whole _stinking_ world, and I’m _damned_ if I’ll let this marriage go without at least fucking _trying_ to make it work, do you hear me?”

She was staring at him, eyes huge in their sorrow, wide and scared and tear-soaked, and he let his anger and heartbreak pour out into the room, let his words tumble over themselves as they flowed out of him.

“So no,” he went on.  “I’m not ready to sign the bloody papers, and no, I’m not ready to let you walk out of my life and rip my fucking heart out of my chest, okay?  I don’t _want_ to get fucking divorced!  I don’t _want_ to see my daughter every few days like I’m a bad bloody father or I’m being fucking _punished_ for something!  I want to try to fix whatever the hell is broken, and I can’t do that until you tell me what the fucking _problem_ is!”

She was silent, her lower lip trembling, and she shook her head numbly.  Weaver sighed, running his hands over his face and trying to calm himself.

“I’m not asking to move back in,” he said, more quietly.  “I’m not asking you for anything other than honesty, Lacey.  I just want you to be _honest_ with me, for God’s sake.  Please!”

She swallowed hard, closing her eyes, and more tears ran down her cheeks.  He sighed again, stepping closer, and reached up to stroke her hair. She pushed her head into his hand a little; it was a tiny gesture, but enough to let him know his touch was welcome, and so he moved closer, lifting both hands to cup her face.  Her skin was soft against his palms, wet with her tears. He hushed her gently, and Lacey bit back a sob, her body trembling. His thumbs stroked her cheeks, brushing away the tears that fell.

“Please don’t cry,” he said gently.  “Please, sweetheart, just talk to me.”

She shook her head, and he tamped down his frustration, leaning in to kiss her forehead.  Lacey hiccoughed miserably, her hands rising up to sit at his waist, and he kissed her again, pressing soft lips against her eyelids and tasting the salt of her tears.  She drew in a shuddering breath, raising her head, lips brushing against his cheek before finding his mouth, her hands sliding up his back as she kissed him urgently. He let his fingers slide into her hair, groaning as her tongue stroked against his, but after that first taste he pulled back, his hands still cupping her face, his breathing ragged.

“We need to talk,” he whispered.  “I’m serious.”

Lacey swallowed, eyes flicking up to meet his, and she nodded a little reluctantly.

“I know,” she said.  “I know we do, it’s just - can we have this?  Can we just have this?”

She rose up on her toes to let her mouth find his, pressing herself against him, fingers tightening on the backs of his shoulders, and Weaver deepened the kiss, eyes closed, wanting it to last.  Her hands slipped back down to his waist, running up over his chest, and she started to tug at the buttons of his shirt, getting it open and pushing it from his shoulders along with his jacket. He let them fall, dropping his hands to shake them free of the sleeves, and ran his palms up her thighs beneath the hem of her dress, pushing it up her body.  Lacey broke the kiss, stepping back to tug it over her head before reaching for him again, and Weaver groaned at the sight of her, pale curves cupped by black lace. She reached behind her to unhook her bra, tossing it aside, her hands reaching out to slide up his chest, and he bent his head to hers, the kiss growing urgent, fingers twisting in her hair as he tugged her close.

He was aware that she was trying to distract him, that she didn’t want to talk about whatever it was that had scared her, and the thought of it was painful, a stabbing sensation deep in his chest.  It hurt that she didn’t trust him, that she couldn’t open up to him, that she was using his hurt and misery to divert his attention from whatever she was mixed up in. It hurt that a part of him didn’t care as long as he could hold her. Her fingers were digging into his chest with the urgency of their embrace, nails sinking into his skin, and his tongue stabbed at her, pushing into her mouth, making her moan.  She slid her hands higher, fingers sliding into his hair, tugging his head down on hers, and he pulled his mouth from hers with a gasp, kissing down her neck, sucking on her skin and making her push against him.

“Bed?” he whispered, and felt her shake her head.

“Here!” she gasped.  “Take me here! Pull me down on the floor and fuck me like you used to!”

He growled in response, letting his legs fold, falling onto his back and pulling her with him.  The impact almost knocked the breath from him, but he rolled, pushing her onto her back on the lounge rug.  Lacey was panting, gazing up at him through sleepy eyes, and he pushed up on his knees, reaching for the waistband of her tights and underwear and pulling down as one.  She pulled her feet free, drawing up her knees, and rose up a little to grasp his belt, tugging it open. Getting his jeans and boots off was a frenzied, awkward scramble, but they managed it, and he put his hands on her shoulders, pressing her down into the rug as he parted her thighs with his own.

She reached up to kiss him, her mouth hot and hungry, falling back against the rug with a cry as he entered her roughly, and Weaver let out a low, deep groan of pleasure, her soft wet flesh closing up around him.  She had arched her back, breasts pushing into his chest, and he slid his hands down to cup them, squeezing as he began to thrust, rolling his hips, grinding against her. Lacey moaned, drawing up her knees to grip his sides with her inner thighs, and he pushed deeper, gasping at the way she gripped and held him, at the way her flesh tugged at him as he moved.  Her hands slid around his back, nails scraping at his skin and sending shivers through him, and he groaned again, pushing deep, his hands sliding up her arms. His fingers slipped through hers, pushing her hands down into the rug beside her head, and Lacey was moaning and writhing, her hips lifting to meet him.

“Yes!” she whispered.  “Oh God, please!”

He bent to draw his tongue up her throat, a hint of her salt on soft skin, closing his eyes as he moved inside her.  She was soft as velvet, wonderfully wet, and he could feel the sensations rising up within him, his muscles growing taut as his pace quickened.  Lacey whimpered, moving her hips against his to increase the friction, and suddenly she came with a cry, her flesh tugging at him, her body arching into his.  The feel of it was too much, and he let go with a long, low groan, bright lights bursting in his head as he came hard, pushing deep inside her, his cock pulsing.  She moaned, nuzzling his ear with her nose, teeth nipping the lobe, her cheek burning hot against his own.

He slowed his thrusts, releasing her hands and resting on his elbows as he tried to catch his breath.  Lacey had sunk back into the rug, her breathing ragged, and he kissed her neck, inhaling deeply to draw the scent of her inside him.  He was still buried within her, her heat surrounding him, and she lifted her hands to stroke her fingers up his sides, a gentle caress.  Her touch was somewhat hesitant, and he raised his head to gaze down on her, his fingers gently stroking stray hairs back from her face. Blue eyes stared into his, wide and troubled and heavy with some emotion he couldn’t quite interpret.  Tears still glistened on her cheeks, and he pressed his brow to hers.

“I love you, Lacey,” he whispered.  “I love you.”

“Please,” she said softly.  “Please don’t.”

He sighed, and nuzzled her nose with his.

“Okay,” he said.  “But you know, right?  You know.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last time, Weaver had reached the end of his tether, and tore up the divorce papers, asking Lacey to be honest with him about why she had asked him to leave. For this chapter, we're going back four years, to just after they slept together.

_Four years earlier_

* * *

The Greyhound bus drew to a stop with a loud hiss from the hydraulics, and Lacey came out of her doze with a jerk.

“Storybrooke!” said the driver curtly, and her eyes widened as she pushed out of her seat, grabbing her backpack and coat and pulling them on.

She was the only one to alight, the bus stop little more than a single shelter at the end of a well-lit main street.  It was colder than in Seattle, and snow covered the sidewalks, a few flakes drifting down as the bus drove off. Lacey shivered, pulling on her coat and hat and wrapping a scarf around her neck before shouldering her backpack.  She looked around warily, but the street was almost empty, the only figures she could see two people hurrying along with their heads bowed and coat collars turned up against the stiff wind.

Shoving her hands into her pockets, she turned away from the main street, taking a side road which she knew cut across town and onto the trail up into the woods.  She wanted to avoid the busier roads as much as she could, preferring to keep to the shadows until she reached her destination. Not that she suspected any threat from the usual residents of Storybrooke, not really, but she had learned that it paid to be careful.

The snow was thicker on the trail, undisturbed except for a single set of footprints, and Lacey hurried along, shivering a little as the cold air bit at her exposed skin.  It was dark, the only light coming from the rising moon, and she stumbled a little on the rough track, arms flying out to steady herself before she hurried on.

Eventually the trail split, and she took the narrower path off to the right, heading over a ridge and down into a valley where the trees met a high fence.  Lacey looked around warily, but could see no threat, and so she began to climb, feet ringing a little on the metal links. The fence was built to deter wildlife rather than people, and she vaulted over the top with ease, landing in a crouch on the soft snow beneath.  Hugging the fence, she made her way swiftly around to the north, and a large house loomed out of the darkness, warm lights spilling onto a wide paved area that stepped down to neatly-kept gardens. There was no way to get to the house without leaving a trail, but the snow was falling again, and so Lacey decided to chance it.

She sprinted across the snow-covered grass, arriving at the kitchen door a little breathless, and put her ear to it.  Silence. A brief turn of the handle opened the door, and Lacey slipped inside and into blessed warmth that made her sigh in relief.

The kitchen was clean and empty, stainless steel surfaces gleaming, and she made her way swiftly through and up the narrow flight of stairs that led to the floor above.  The floor creaked a little under her feet, and she moved quickly, stepping on her toes until she reached the third door on the right. Opening it up, she slipped inside a large, high-ceiling bedroom, the walls papered in blue and a thick patterned rug covering the polished floorboards.  A bed was against the far wall, twin lamps sending out a pleasant light, and Lacey heaved a breath as she looked on the figure that lay there.

It had been months since she had last visited, and guilt gnawed at her, but she told herself it was highly unlikely she had been missed.  The woman in the bed had once been vibrant and beautiful, with kind eyes and an infectious smile, but was now gaunt and too pale, her cheeks sunken and her hair thin and brittle.  A machine beside the bed was letting out a rhythmic beep as it tracked the beat of her heart, and bags of fluid hung from a stand, plastic tubes snaking beneath the sheets. Lacey crept nearer, slipping off her backpack and easing into the chair beside the bed.  The woman’s arm was thin, the bones in her hand clearly visible through paper-thin skin, fingers curled into a claw on the white sheet. Lacey reached out, folding her own hand around it, and the woman’s eyes flickered and opened.

“Hey Grandma,” whispered Lacey.  “It’s me.”

Her grandmother’s mouth twitched a little, as though she was trying to smile, and Lacey beamed, hoping to encourage her, to comfort her.  Marie d’Avonlea had been the one force for good in her life, however ineffective, and she owed her some comfort, some love. She owed her that much.

“Doesn’t look as though much has changed around here,” she added.  “You’re looking beautiful. Does Mrs Potts still make that lobster pot pie I used to like?”

Marie smiled with her eyes, but they were unfocused, and Lacey wondered if she even realised her granddaughter was there.  Perhaps the waking world was like a dream to her. She hoped so. She hoped her dreams were good.

“I know I’ve been away for awhile, but I’ve been working,” she added.  “Busy like a bee, you know me. Never in one place for too long. Except this time.  Maybe that was the problem. Maybe I shouldn’t have stayed. But it was nice, you know?  It was nice to feel safe, just for awhile.”

Marie’s eyes had closed, and Lacey squeezed her hand.

“Anyway, I’m back,” she whispered.  “I don’t know how long I can stay, but for now I’m back.”

Marie didn’t respond, and Lacey released her hand, letting out a sigh as she settled back in the chair.  It had been a long four days on the buses she had taken, and she had gotten little sleep. She curled her legs under her, hugging a cushion to her chest, and closed her eyes.  It wouldn’t hurt to get a little rest.

* * *

A clattering noise made her eyes flick open, and almost immediately pain lanced through her hip.  Lacey grimaced, shifting her position to something more comfortable and letting the circulation return to the leg that had been folded under her.  There was a rattling outside the door, and her eyes widened as the doorknob turned. A quick glance around showed few hiding places, but she leapt up anyway, stumbling on stiff legs as the door opened.

The sight of a plump old woman pushing an aluminium frame cart made her sag in relief, and she sent her an uncertain smile.

“Hey, Mrs Potts.”

The housekeeper’s mouth fell open, white hair swept up on top of her head as always, glasses perched on her nose.

“Miss Belle, as I live and breathe!” she gasped.  “What are you doing here?”

“Yeah, I know it’s been awhile,” said Lacey uncomfortably.  “Thought I’d check in on her.  How has she been?”

Mrs Potts pushed the cart closer, and Lacey saw that breakfast was on it: a bowl of porridge, buttered toast and tea, and a plate of cut fruit.

"No real change," she said.  "She can eat, but she can't speak.  She seems as well as she can be, other than that.  Smiles a lot, anyway."

"Good."

Lacey chewed her lip, looking at Marie's closed eyes.  Perhaps it was true.  Perhaps she was happy in her little world.  Mrs Potts cleared her throat.

“When did you get here?” she asked.  “I didn’t hear the door.”

“No, I came up last night,” said Lacey.  “Didn’t want to disturb anyone.”

“Hmm.”  Mrs Potts gave a knowing sniff, looking her over.  “Well, you look as though you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.  Too thin, besides.  I bet you haven't been eating properly."

"Don't fuss," sighed Lacey.

"It's my job to fuss," said Mrs Potts.  "We'll soon have you fed and rested, no need to worry.  I expect you’ll want a bath and a change of clothes.”

“That’d be great.”

“And some breakfast?”

“You’re an angel,” said Lacey.  “I always said so.”

“Flatterer,” she said, with a smile.  “Let me see what I can do.”

“No one can know I’m here,” said Lacey hastily.  “Who’s still around? I mean from the old crowd.”

Mrs Potts pursed her lips.

“Well, Cogsworth is still here,” she said.  “He always did say they’d have to carry him out in his coffin.  And there’s Ashley, who comes in to clean, but it’s a big job for one girl.  I closed up most of the rooms. Other than that there’s Anton, who does the gardens, but he won’t be here until the snows go.”

“Okay.”   _Good.  The fewer people to see me, the better._

“Of course the nurses come in once a day,” she added.  “Dr Whale attends once a week to see how things are. Oh, and Felix comes up from the town every three or four days.  To keep an eye on things, he says, but I have to say I wouldn’t trust him as far as I can throw him.”

“Oh.”  Lacey shifted nervously.  “And - and _them_?”

Mrs Potts pursed her lips.

“Not for a month or so,” she said.  “I doubt they’ll be back before the spring.   _She_ doesn’t like the cold.”

“Of course not,” said Lacey.  “Hell’s always warm, right?”

Mrs Potts’ mouth worked, as though she was trying not to laugh, and Lacey nodded.   _Maybe I can stay then. Maybe for a little while._

“Right,” said Mrs Potts briskly, patting her broad thighs.  “Well. Let me see about some food for you.”

“I’ll give Grandma her breakfast,” said Lacey.  “It’s good to see you, Mrs Potts.”

The old woman smiled, her eyes twinkling.

“It’s good to see you, Miss.”

* * *

Feeding Marie took a long time, but Lacey finally finished, and her grandmother appeared to fall asleep again, so she turned her attention to the breakfast she had been given.  Warm fresh bread and butter, porridge with stewed pears and maple syrup, and a pot of tea. She was oddly homesick for the coffee she used to make in Weaver’s apartment, and resolved to ask Mrs Potts to get some, but the food was delicious, and she ate every scrap.

Once that was done, she followed Mrs Potts to one of the three bedrooms that Ashley kept clean.  It wasn’t the room she had stayed in when she had briefly lived in the house, but she didn’t mind that. The room was decorated in a pale, soothing green, with cream sheets and an embroidered, down-filled comforter on the bed. There was an en-suite with a shower and bath tiled in cream and jade, and Lacey lost no time in turning on the shower and washing away four days of dust and grime.

As she pulled out a set of clean clothes - sweater dress and skinny jeans over her chunky boots, she began to plan, her mind running over the advantages of staying where she was for now, along with potential threats. The lack of staff was a good thing; fewer eyes to see her meant fewer mouths to flap about her being there. She certainly trusted Mrs Potts and Cogsworth not to mention her presence in Storybrooke, but as for the rest of them…  She had no idea who Felix was, and decided she had no desire to find out.

Cogsworth was a rotund man in his sixties with thinning hair and round little glasses that gave him an air of fussiness.  He was overjoyed to see her, promising to keep an eye out for any visitors. He repeated Mrs Potts’ claims of there being few enough of those, and the long driveway leading to the house would give Lacey plenty of time to hide herself away until they had gone.  She felt herself relax a little, and ate her dinner that night down in the kitchens with both of them.

“Where have you been all this time?” asked Mrs Potts, passing her a plate of chicken casserole, and Lacey sighed.

“Look, the less I tell you, the less you have to lie if someone asks,” she said.

“Oh, I’m used to lying by now, dear,” she said cheerfully.

“Yeah, and you’re good at it, but Cogsworth sucks,” said Lacey, causing a noise of protest from him.  “It doesn’t matter, anyway. I was in one place for too long. Won’t happen again.”

“Does that mean you’ll be moving on soon?” asked Cogsworth, looking crestfallen, and she nodded.

“They’ll return in the spring, right?” she said.  “I need to be gone by then.”

“At least take some money,” he said.  “I go over the accounts, you know, and I’m well aware you haven’t touched yours in years.”

“Yeah, because an account is a link,” she said patiently.  “I don’t want to give them any way to trace me, okay? I’m not making this easy for them.  Besides, I can take care of myself.”

Cogsworth sighed resignedly, pushing vegetables around on his plate.

“Where will you go?” he asked, and Lacey shrugged.

“I don’t know.  Wherever the bus stops, I guess."

“It sounds a lonely life, Miss,” he said.  “And a dangerous one.”

“Not always,” she said quietly.  “Sometimes you meet good people. There are a few of them out there.  A few good men left in this world.”

“Your grandmother wouldn’t want to see you like this,” he chided.  “Drifting through life, no roots, no future…”

“Yeah, well, I guess my grandmother didn’t want a lot of things that happened to me,” she said abruptly.  “No use crying over it.”

She dug into the casserole, spearing a piece of meat and shoving it into her mouth.  He was right, but she had realised long ago that what someone wanted and what life offered them were two very different things.

* * *

It was strange being back, and not as comforting as she had expected.  Lacey enjoyed seeing the familiar faces of people that she knew, eating Mrs Potts’ excellent cooking and reading to her grandmother from the library, but the house no longer felt like home.  Perhaps it never really had, and she had simply never noticed. Or perhaps it was the fact that she had had no place of her own with which to compare it, so it had remained the only home she knew. At least until recently.

She missed the apartment in Seattle, with its snug lounge and her bedroom that overlooked the street and the deli on the corner with its scents of fresh ground coffee and bagels.  She missed serving drinks at Roni’s, and the playful banter she had with the customers. And she missed Weaver. She missed waking him with coffee and getting a sleepy groan in response.  She missed arguing about what to put in the grocery cart or curling on the couch with a glass of something and bitching about their respective days. She missed him most of all.

She had thought about calling a hundred times or more, and dismissed each thought almost immediately. Why bother, after all?  It wasn’t as though she would be going back, and he would ask her questions to which she had no answers.  At least none she could give him.  Better to remember it as a brief moment of calm in the never-ending chaos of her life and move on.

It was March before she accepted that that wouldn’t be possible.

She had been feeling under the weather since Christmas, bone-tired and weak, but when she started throwing up each morning, a dreadful suspicion began to take form in her brain.  Her period had come again, but it was much lighter than usual, and although she tried to tell herself it was stress, the ominous suspicion persisted.  She decided to wait until testing her theory, in the vain hope that she was wrong, but the weeks passed and the sickness continued, and eventually she bit the bullet and took the bus to the next town.

She was nervous about going into Storybrooke, even simply to wait at the bus stop, so she picked a day of dreadful weather, when the snow was falling hard out of a iron-grey sky and the wind blew it in sheets across the road.  The buses still ran, though.  It took more than a little snow to stop the residents of Maine getting around.

The next town over was bigger, filled with strangers who took no notice of the girl in her too-big sweater and hooded coat, and Lacey felt herself relax a little as she slipped into the clinic she had called the day before. The test result wasn’t exactly unexpected, but it didn’t stop her swearing like a trooper as she stomped around the consultation room. After her initial outburst, to which the young nurse listened calmly, she slumped into a chair and began to cry.

“I realise this is a lot to take in,” said the nurse.  She had told Lacey that her name was Dorothy, and she had a kind but efficient air that made her feel at ease.

“Oh, it’s not like it’s a total shock,” said Lacey, wiping her eyes with the tissue she was handed.  “Just - just confirmation, I guess. I kind of knew, and I couldn’t face it. I’ve been putting this off for bloody _weeks_!  I’m a fucking coward!”

“There’s no cowardice in being afraid your life will change,” said Dorothy.  “You’re here now, that’s what matters. Do you want to discuss your options?”

“Options.”  Lacey’s mouth flattened.  “Wouldn’t those be nice?”

“Well, you do have them,” she said.  “Remember it’s your body, and your decision.  I’m certainly not going to make it for you, and nor should anyone else.”

Lacey was silent, thinking about Weaver.  He was no doubt going about his usual business, working way too much and self-medicating with whisky, with no clue that three thousand miles to the east, his ex-roommate was pregnant with their child.  How would he react, if she told him?  Would he care?  She thought he would; he had already done more for her than anyone else she had met in the years she had fended for herself.  What would he want to do about this?  She didn’t know, but she thought perhaps he deserved to hear the news from her personally.  It was almost spring, anyway.  It was time for her to leave Maine.

* * *

It seemed to take an age to walk back to the house from the bus stop, the woods cold and ominous, the snow slipping beneath her boots.  She was glad she no longer had the ridiculous heels she had taken to wearing at Roni’s. There was little call for sexy outfits when one was on the road, and it seemed that that was what she was destined for once more.  She eyed the big house warily, alert for any strange vehicles outside, but the driveway was clear, and so she hurried around to the kitchens, where Mrs Potts was pouring hot water into a teapot. She looked around with a smile as Lacey entered.

“Just in time!” she announced, and her face fell.  “Why, whatever’s the matter?”

She put the lid on the teapot and hurried over, and Lacey burst into tears again.  It took five minutes of gulping and sobbing and broken sentences to explain the reason for her distress, but Mrs Potts was as kind and comforting as ever.  Lacey wept on her shoulder as Mrs Potts stroked her hair and whispered soothing words, and when she was done she felt better, as though some of the weight around her heart had been lifted. She let out a shuddering sigh, and Mrs Potts patted her back.

“There now, dear,” said Mrs Potts kindly.  “You sit down and have some tea.  Things never seem quite so bad after a nice cup of tea, I always say.  And a piece of cake, hmm?”

“Guess I need the extra calories,” said Lacey despondently.

She took a seat at the table, slumping in the chair as Mrs Potts poured tea and set slices of ginger cake on a plate.  Lacey felt a little better after eating a piece, and reached for her tea.

“So,” said Mrs Potts, looking at her over the top of her glasses.  “What are you going to do?”

“Go back to—”  Lacey snapped her mouth shut before she could reveal her destination.  “Go back.  He deserves to know.”

“The father?”  She put her head to the side.  “Did it end badly?”

“It was never a _thing_ ,” she sighed.  “We were friends, that’s all.  It happened once.  He was sad and - and I wanted to help.  I never thought it would - well, I guess I was stupid.  Reckless.”

“And now?” asked Mrs Potts.  “What do you think he’ll do?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, pushing dark brown crumbs of cake around on her plate with a finger.  “I don’t even know what _I_ want to do.  But he’s a good man.  The best I’ve ever known.  Maybe he’ll help.  At any rate, he has a right to know.”

“Yes.”  She reached out, squeezing Lacey’s hand with her own.  “I think you’re right.  I think you should go to him.”

There was silence for a moment, and Mrs Potts sat back, taking a sip of her tea.

“When will you go?” she asked quietly, and Lacey glanced up.

“I’ll go tomorrow,” she said.  “It’s time, anyway. You said they’d return in the spring.”

“Yes.”  Mrs Potts looked grim.  “And rest assured, they’ll hear nothing of this from me.”

“Thanks,” said Lacey.  “Look - I don’t know when I’ll be able to come back.  I hate leaving Grandma all this time, but—”

“Dr Whale says she’s comfortable, and she doesn’t realise what’s going on ninety percent of the time,” she said soothingly.  “Don’t worry about her, Miss.  Or us, for that matter.  You think about keeping safe, and about the decision you have to make, that’s all.”

Lacey gave her a tremulous smile.

“Do me a favour and don’t say anything to Cogsworth,” she said.  “I know he means well, but secret agent he ain’t.”

She smiled at that, eyes twinkling.

“Just promise me one thing,” she said.  “Let me know what you decide, and let me know you’re alright.”

Lacey nodded, reaching for a second piece of cake.

“I promise.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last time in the present, Weaver told Lacey he wouldn't sign the divorce papers, and they had a bunch of angry sex. This chapter picks up where chapter 9 left off

Weaver wanted to stay pressed against Lacey forever, but he was getting cold, lying naked on the floor of their apartment, and he needed to get back to Nolan’s place.  His plan to have a long conversation with Lacey had been effectively derailed, and while he cursed his own weakness for thinking with his cock, the chance to have her in his arms again was too wonderful to feel too bad about it.  He kissed her again, pushing up off her and hunting for his clothes. Lacey dressed in silence, and the heavy, awkward atmosphere descended again. Weaver wanted to sigh, but he zipped his jeans, buckling his belt and tugging on his shirt.

“So,” he said, fastening shirt buttons as he watched her dress.  “What now?”

She flicked her eyes across to him, chewing her lip, and his mouth flattened.

“Lacey,” he said.  “I fucking meant it.  I’m not signing any papers until I know why I’m signing them, okay?”

“I know,” she said softly.

“So we need to talk,” he said.  “I want to make this work, but if that’s not possible - well, if it’s not, then I don’t want it to be because we didn’t try, okay?  Please.”

Lacey tugged her dress straight, folding her arms around herself, and nodded.

“Okay,” she said.  “Okay, I’ll - I’ll try.  I mean neither one of us went into this with high expectations, right?”

Well, that fucking hurt.

“I never expected it to be the romance of the fucking century, if that’s what you mean,” he said coldly.  “I’m well aware I have little to offer on that front. But we were at least good friends. Can’t we just start with that?”

She sighed, finally meeting his eyes.

“Yeah,” she said softly.  “Look - can you just - can you give me some time?  Just a few days, that’s all. I need to think. I know this is hurting you, and - and I don’t _want_ to hurt you.  I never wanted that.”

“What did you think would happen?” he asked.

His voice was gentle rather than accusatory, and she shrugged awkwardly, one shoulder rising and falling.

“I guess - I guess maybe I thought you wouldn’t care too much.  Like maybe it would be a relief.”

“Lacey…”

He stepped forward, cupping her face with his hands and feeling the softness of her skin against his palms. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, and he bent to kiss her, lips pulling at hers as she rose up on her toes. Her hands rested at his waist, and when he pulled back she dropped back on her heels, still not looking at him.  He felt his heart sink, but his thumbs stroked her cheeks, wanting to stay close to her, to touch her.

“I don’t want this,” he said quietly.  “I want us to be a family, but I don’t want you to be unhappy, and I’m not gonna force you into anything, okay?  So if you need time, you have it.”

Her lower lip trembled a little, and she caught it with her teeth, nodding.  Her eyes were closed, her body stiff. He had no idea what she was thinking. Perhaps he never had.  Reading people was in his job description, and yet his own wife was a closed book. It was bloody depressing.

“I should get back to Nolan’s place,” he said.  “Could we - could we maybe talk when I bring Tilly home?”

Lacey nodded briefly, finally opening her eyes.  There was a troubled expression on her face, and he was desperately afraid that she would change her mind, but she nodded again, resolutely.  He kissed her forehead, a press of lips against her skin, trying to send all the love he could into her. Hoping she believed it. Lacey chewed at her lip as he drew back, and he wanted to sigh.

“Right,” he said softly.  “I should go. I’ll see you on Sunday.”

“Yeah.”

She showed him out, her shoulders a little hunched, as though she was beaten down by whatever burden she was carrying.  He wanted to take it from her, to bear it away and bury it deep, where it would never hurt her. If only she would let him.

* * *

Weaver stomped up the path to Nolan’s front door, hands shoved in his pockets and what he knew must be a grim look on his face.  He felt a little better for losing his temper and saying what he damn well felt for a change, but whether it would have the result he wanted was another matter.  He still had no idea what had caused Lacey to push him away in the first place, and part of him was worried that giving her a couple of days before talking about it would only give her time to conjure up some elaborate lie.

Nolan answered the door to him, Wilby shoving a wet nose into his hand as he entered, and he followed Nolan back to the kitchen, hearing the sound of Tilly and Neal playing in the lounge.

“You want a beer?” asked Nolan, opening the fridge door, and Weaver sighed as he dropped onto one of the kitchen chairs.

“Why not?” he said despondently, and nodded his thanks as Nolan tossed a can to him.

“How’d things go with Lacey?”

Weaver popped the top of his beer, drinking about half of it in one go and setting the can on the table with a dull clunk.

“They didn’t,” he said tersely.  “Or at least, I didn’t get to the bottom of what the problem is.”

“But?”

“But I tore up the divorce papers and told her I wouldn’t sign them until I knew what the hell’s going on.”

Nolan took a drink of his own beer, setting the can down on the table and watching Weaver with a knowing look on his face.

“And?”

Weaver grimaced, running a hand through his hair.

“And I told her I bloody loved her, and we had sex again.”

“You know, for two people who broke up, you guys sure have a lot of sex,” remarked Nolan, and Weaver shot him a look.

“Yeah, and every time we do, I end up finding out nothing about what’s up with her,” he growled.  “She does it on purpose, I swear.”

“You really think that’s true?”

He said back in his chair, letting his head roll back with a sigh.

“I don’t know, maybe,” he said resignedly.  “Maybe I should exercise some bloody self-control. I’ve just - I’ve missed her, you know?  I spent bloody decades on my own, but - but I never felt _lonely_ until we weren’t together anymore.  How ridiculous is that?”

“That’s how things are when you find the person you’re meant to be with,” said Nolan, reaching for his beer. “I’m sure you guys can sort this out.”

“Maybe,” he said tiredly.  “She’s agreed to talk, at least.  I’ll see her when I take Tilly back there on Sunday.”

“And you have no idea what caused all this?”

Weaver shook his head.

“Not a clue,” he said, his voice heavy.  “Maybe she’ll tell me.  Maybe not. Maybe what she’ll tell me will be a pack of lies, and I won’t even see it.”

He ran a hand over his mouth, sighing to himself as he shook his head.

“I can’t read her, Nolan,” he said quietly.  “I have no idea what the hell is going on with her.”

Nolan took a swig of his beer, putting the can down on the table.

“Okay,” he said.  “Let’s look at this from another angle.  Let’s say it wasn’t Lacey, but a regular case.  How would you solve it?”

Weaver shrugged, pulling a face.

“Usually with a case I start with the crime and work backwards to find the suspect,” he said.  “Here I don’t have that. I have a suspect but no idea what it is they’ve done. And honestly I don’t like thinking of Lacey in those terms.”

“Look, I’m just giving you a push to think your way out of this,” said Nolan impatiently.  “I’m not suggesting you tap her damn phone. Just think about what’s out of place right now, and go from there.”

Weaver nodded slowly.

“Alright,” he said.  “I’ll think about it.”

* * *

He slept little that weekend, lying in bed with his arms behind his head and running over everything that had passed between he and Lacey since he had first noticed something was up.  It didn’t give him much to work on, and he hoped that she would be a little more forthcoming with him when he went over on Sunday.

Having Tilly to stay was a balm for his tortured soul, and he ensured that they spent as much time together as possible, whether going to the park, reading from one of the books she had brought, or making cookies in the kitchen.  He used a packet cookie mix, and a series of plastic cutters in the shape of animals that he bought at the dollar store, but they seemed to turn out alright.

Tilly wanted to take some to Lacey, and so on Sunday evening he found himself waiting on her doorstep with a plastic box in one hand containing a selection of cookies in the shape of elephants, cats and rabbits, messy with white frosting.  Lacey eyed him soberly when she answered the door, but turned on a beaming smile for their daughter, kissing her cheeks and exclaiming over the cookies. It made him smile. He left Tilly telling her about their trip to the park while he went to the kitchen, and heard Lacey chattering as she led her through to the bedroom to get ready for bed.

Weaver leaned on the counter, eyeing the clock as the minute hand inched slowly around.  Lacey seemed to be gone for a long time, but he didn’t move, staring sightless at the tiled wall by the kettle.  She had said they would talk, and he intended to hold her to that. There was a bottle of wine next to the microwave, but he didn’t want to open it, as much as he would have liked to have a glass.  It wasn’t his apartment anymore.

By the time she came back he felt as though his body had frozen, and he turned his head to face her. She had let down her hair, dark curls bouncing around her shoulders, her little black top stretched tight across her breasts.  She looked a little thinner, her cheeks more hollow than usual, and he wondered if she was eating properly.

“She’s ready for you to say goodnight,” she said.

He nodded, pushing away from the counter and going through to kiss Tilly goodnight, and when he returned to the kitchen she had opened the wine and poured them both a glass.  He took it with a nod of thanks, taking a swig. He’d have to make it the one, as he was driving, but then he supposed he could always get a cab, if it came to it. If things went badly wrong, he could just go to Roni’s bar and drink himself under the table.

Lacey was chewing her lower lip, the way she did when she was thinking about something, and he took another swallow of wine, relishing the slight burn of alcohol in his throat.  After a moment she seemed to reach a decision, and turned towards him, taking a drink and setting her glass on the kitchen counter as she swallowed.

“You were right,” she said abruptly.  “I haven’t really explained things, or told you what’s going through my mind.  I’m not being fair to you, and - and it’s hurting you.”

He was about to say something, but sensed that she wasn’t finished, so pressed his lips together, waiting.  Lacey took a deep breath, raising her chin, and looked at him, her eyes fixing on a point near his left ear.

“You were right that we should try,” she said.  “To make it work, I mean.”

The fingers of ice that had grown around his heart stirred a little, beginning to thaw, and he felt the first, faint stirring of hope.

“I’d like to,” he said gently.  “I want to make it work, Lacey.”

“I know you do.”

Her voice was barely more than a whisper, a flat monotone, as if the fact that he persevered was somehow irritating, but she met his eyes briefly before glancing away again, one toe scuffing at the rug, as though she were ashamed.

“I just - I don’t know how to explain what I’ve been feeling,” she went on.  “I don’t know if _I_ even understand it.  How can I explain it to you if I don’t get it?”

Weaver took a sip of his drink, setting down the glass.

“Well,” he said.  “I think maybe we just need to keep talking.  Just - just say whatever comes into your head, and it’ll all come out.  It might be in a big tangled pile that we need to make sense of, but that’s okay.  At least once it’s out there we can look through it, you know?”

Her mouth twisted, as though she was about to cry, and she shook her head.

“You’re too good to me,” she whispered.  “Too good. It hurts.”

She rubbed at her chest, and he took a step towards her, inching slowly forwards.  Lacey shook her head, holding up a hand, and he settled back on one foot, giving her space again.

“I’m sorry, I - I’m not good at this,” she said awkwardly.  “Feelings. Family. Close – relationships. Any of it. I’m not used to talking through stuff or letting shit out or - or letting people in.  No one ever really cared enough to try before, or was prepared to listen to me anyway.”

He wanted to speak, to tell her that he cared, that he would listen, but she was still talking, so he remained silent.

“So - so I know this hasn’t exactly been a healthy coping mechanism, just shutting you out, but it’s kind of the best I can do,” she went on.  “Before we were together, I – well, if things got too much I always ran away rather than face them, because I’m a fucking coward.”

“You’re the least cowardly person I know.”

Lacey pulled a face.

“No, I _am_ ,” she insisted.  “And I’ve been selfish, trying to force you to do things my way, to take the easy way out.  I suck at facing shit, at - at _dealing_.  And - and that’s not your fault, or Tilly’s.  It’s only ever been mine.”

He was silent, watching her.  She was bouncing on her toes a little, the way she did when she was uncomfortable and wanted to be anywhere but there.  God, he didn’t want her to take off again. He didn’t think she would, but he was well aware that if it hadn’t been for Tilly, he would never have seen her again after the first time they had sex.  The thought was unbelievably painful.

“I - I can’t promise anything,” she went on.  “But I’ll try, okay? I just need some time to myself, so - so I can’t have you moving back in just now.”

Weaver blinked.

“Alright,” he said.  “I never expected that, anyway.  I know this isn’t gonna be resolved with a cup of tea and a frenzied fuck.”

“Yeah,” she whispered.  “Pretty sure we already did that last part.”

There was silence for a moment, and he tried to think of something to say that would give at least one of them some comfort.

“Well, we can keep the same arrangement with Tilly for now,” he said.  “I’ll take her Wednesday night until Friday this week, okay? And - and you and I can maybe start to talk through things.  Maybe we could get Roni to watch her one evening, so we can do that. We could have dinner, or—”

He cut off as her mouth twisted, as though the idea was repulsive to her, but to his surprise she nodded.

“Yeah, maybe,” she said quietly.  “We’ll see how things go, I guess.  I could - I could bring you lunch or something.  Like I used to.”

The faintest of smiles curled his lips, and he nodded.

“I’d like that.”

More silence.  He had never before appreciated how loud the kitchen clock was.

“Lacey,” he said quietly.  “What do you feel for me?”

She hesitated, not looking at him.

“You know how I feel,” she muttered.

“If I’d been asked that six months ago, I would have said yes.”  He put his hands on his hips, squaring his jaw. “Since then you asked me to move out and told me you wanted to get divorced, so you’ll forgive me if I’m having a crisis of confidence.”

Lacey sighed at the tone of his voice, her mouth flattening, and her eyes flicked across to meet his.  His mouth was set in a grim line, his brows drawn down a little over dark eyes, and she felt that familiar lurch in her belly at the sight of him.  He always looked good to her, but even more so when he was angry and trying not to show it, when his emotions were raw and hard. She closed her eyes for a moment at the brief memory of his mouth on hers, his body pressing down on her, inside her.  It made her want to step into his arms and take him into the bedroom they had once shared and forget about everything that had happened those past few months. She opened her eyes again, and he was watching her, the low-level anger dissipating into something worse, a heavy cloak of sadness and regret wrapping around him.

“I - I care about you,” she said softly.  “I care about you a lot, okay? And I don’t want to hurt you.  I’m just - I’m afraid that’s all I do, is hurt you. All I’ve ever done.”

“That’s not true, sweetheart, God knows…”  He ran a hand through his hair. “You - you make me laugh, and you challenge me, and - and you light up my life just by being part of it, I swear.”

Guilt gnawed at her, making her eyes sting with tears, and Weaver sighed.

“Look, maybe we got together under less than ideal circumstances, but that doesn’t change how I feel now,” he said.  “We may not have felt we were love at first sight, but I love you now, okay? I love you so, so much!”

His eyes were pleading, his smile a little desperate, and it felt as though she was being stabbed, a hard, sharp pain in her chest, digging and twisting.

“And - and it’s - alright, if you don’t feel the same way,” he said gently.  “I mean why would you, anyway? I’m a mess.”

He chuckled hollowly, and her mouth twisted, two tears tracking down her cheeks.

“You’re not,” she whispered.  “You’re the best man I know. The best I’ve ever known.”

“I get the impression that the competition isn’t exactly fierce,” he said, and put his hands on her shoulders as she bit back a sob.

He drew her to him, a soft press of his fingers on her shoulders, and she let her hands rest at his waist, shuffling forwards until they were touching.  Weaver pressed his lips to her forehead, which made her want to cry again, so she laid her head against his chest with a shuddering sigh as his arms wrapped around her.

“Lacey,” he said quietly.  “I’m not gonna lie to you, this whole thing has hurt like fuck.”

She nodded miserably.  She knew that, of course.

“I’m well aware that we have some things to work through, even if I’m not completely sure what those are,” he went on.  “Getting through it is probably gonna hurt like fuck too, but - but it hurts me _more_ to be apart from you and Tilly, okay?”

She nodded, and he tightened his grip around her.  It felt nice, to be in his arms again. To be held by him, as though she was worth something.

“And you?” he asked, his voice a low buzz rumbling through his chest.  “Does it hurt you, the thought of us being together?”

Lacey rubbed her nose against him, breathing in his familiar scent.

“I’m not sure what hurts right now,” she said, her voice dull.  “I’m not sure I can feel anything.”

He kissed the top of her head, lips pressing against her hair.

“Then tell me how I can help,” he said, and she pushed back a little, raising her head to meet his eyes.

“Stay with me,” she said.  “Stay with me tonight.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last time, in the present, Lacey told Weaver she was willing to try to fix their relationship. This chapter is a flashback to where everything started to go wrong :(

_Four months earlier_

* * *

Lacey flipped the pancakes, smiling as she felt Weaver’s hands steal around her waist.  She hadn’t managed to get dressed properly, but the summer mornings made her feel wonderfully lazy, and so she had thrown on his white shirt over her underwear to keep her semi-decent while she made Tilly’s breakfast.  He kissed the back of her neck, making her shiver, and her grin widened as his hands crept up to her breasts.

“If you’re not careful, I’m gonna burn this,” she warned, gesturing with the spatula.  “I’m not exactly great at cooking these things at the best of times.”

“You’re brilliant,” he murmured, kissing her again.

“You’re only saying that because I blew you.”

He chuckled deeply, sinking his teeth into her shoulder.

“Your skills between the sheets are just a bonus,” he said.  “You’re brilliant in every way.”

“Flatterer.”

She served up the pancakes, putting them on a plate and topping with sliced banana, blueberries and maple syrup.  Weaver had moved back from her a little, and she turned in his arms with the plate held out on one hand, her lips pursed in amusement.

“You gonna let me go, or will you make your daughter starve?” she teased, and he grumbled and stepped back.

“Use my weaknesses against me, why don’t you?”

Lacey winked at him, walking to the lounge with a swaying of hips, a grin on her face.  Tilly was seated on the couch with Dragon tucked under one arm, watching TV with her thumb in her mouth.

“Here you go, sweetie,” she said, handing the plate to Tilly.  “Don’t drip, okay?”

“Okay.”

Lacey ruffled her hair, heading back to the kitchen.  The sound of the early morning kids’ TV show Tilly was watching was overly loud, and Lacey pushed the kitchen door to with her foot, shutting out some of the noise as she carried cups of coffee to the table.  Weaver was already seated, raking his hair with a hand and looking sleepy, and he sent her a grateful look as she set black coffee in front of him.

“Bloody need this,” he said fervently.

“Well, if you will insist on keeping me up, having your wicked way,” she teased, sliding into the chair across from him.

He grinned, winking at her as he reached for his coffee.

“It’s my day off,” he said.  “And I didn’t hear you complaining.”

“Hmm.”

She wrinkled her nose at him playfully, and his grin widened.

“Plans for today?” he asked, taking a sip of hot coffee and wincing.  “I thought we might take Tilly to the aquarium.”

Lacey hesitated, wriggling in her seat a little.

“I - uh - I was thinking about what you said the other night,” she said, a little shyly.  “About school.”

Weaver put down his cup, a smile quirking his mouth and glinting in his eyes.

“Oh yeah?” he said, clearly aiming for nonchalance and failing miserably.

“Yeah.”  She wrapped her hands around her coffee, letting the warmth of the mug heat her palms.  “I thought - I thought I might go back.”

His smile became a grin.

“Well, I think that’s a great idea,” he said.

“Just for my high school diploma,” she added, shooting him a look.  “I don’t want you thinking I’m gonna go off to college or get a bloody PhD or anything like that, okay?”

The grin widened.

“One step at a time.”

“I mean it, Rafe!”

“I don’t doubt it.”  He took another slurp of coffee.  “Have you looked into it yet?”

“No,” she admitted.  “I thought I’d head down to the community college.  Maybe talk to someone about night classes, or something.  See what they have to offer. It - it might mean we have to get someone to watch Tilly.”

“I can do that.”

“You have work,” she pointed out, and he shrugged.

“Well, I’ve worked my fucking arse off for decades,” he said.  “They owe me a bit of flexibility, I’m thinking.”

Lacey felt a surge of love for him, and reached out to squeeze his forearm.

“So - that’s my plan for today,” she said.

“In that case,” he said.  “ _I’ll_ take Tilly to the aquarium, and you can meet me there when you’re done.  Maybe lunch at Granny’s afterwards?”

“Sounds perfect,” she said, and felt her heart grow a little as he grinned at her.  It was. Life was perfect.

* * *

Lacey left the air-conditioned cool of the community college entrance, a sheaf of papers tucked into the cardboard folder they had given her and wedged under one arm.  The sun was high in the summer sky, the heat of it making her glad of the sunscreen she had plastered onto her pale skin. She was wearing a floaty little summer dress in a buttery yellow colour, her hair tied up on her head and wedge-heeled sandals keeping her naked feet from the blistering sidewalk.  It was just past midday, and she was thirsty.  With any luck Weaver and Tilly would be done with the aquarium and ready for lunch, or at least a long, cold drink.  Perhaps they could go to the park afterwards and sit in the shade of the trees while Tilly played. She intended to enjoy the lazy summer days while she could; winter would be upon them soon enough.

She rummaged in her bag, the college paperwork sliding awkwardly as she hunted for her phone.  The admissions staff had been more than helpful, and she had to admit that she was excited at the prospect of going back to school and getting her diploma.  The thought of achieving something worthwhile would have seemed like a pipe-dream a few years earlier, but she had been growing in confidence, encouraged by her husband and by the desire to set a good example to their daughter.  She was determined to make them both proud.

“Well, well.  Haven’t _you_ grown up?”

An all-too-familiar voice made her brain freeze in terror and her heart turn to a heavy ball of ice in her chest, radiating cold and stealing her breath even as it thumped hard.  Lacey licked her lips nervously, turning slowly on the balls of her feet. The woman who faced her was perhaps twenty years older than she, but still beautiful, with long dark hair and a pale oval of a face, her lips curved upwards in a false smile as she removed dark glasses from her eyes.  Her black suit was tailored to fit her slender figure, the jacket open to reveal a cream silk shirt and a tasteful gold necklace that Lacey figured probably cost more than three months’ rent on their apartment. Her name was Fiona Schwartz, and she was the last person Lacey had ever wanted to see again. Well, second to last.

“What, no words of greeting?” she asked, pouting a little.  “No tear-soaked reunion? Where’s your sense of familial obligation?”

“Flushed it down into the sewers with my memories of you, where they belonged,” said Lacey abruptly.  “What do you want?”

“Can’t a mother enquire after her daughter?”

“You’re not my mother.”

Fiona waved a languid hand.

“Stepmother, then,” she said lazily.

“You missed out the evil part.”

She sighed, looking amused.

“Please don’t tell me you fell for the fairy tale stereotypes,” she said.  “I don’t recall ever dressing you in rags.”

“I was thinking of you being more the witch who eats kids, but okay.”

“You always were prone to exaggeration.”

“We all have our faults, I guess.”

Fiona sighed dramatically.

“Well, I must say it’s taken me awhile to track you down,” she said, glancing around.  “When you go into hiding you really do find the dirtiest rock to crawl under, don’t you?”

“Guess it’s a side-effect of not wanting to see you ever again.”

“I was impressed,” she went on, as though Lacey hadn’t spoken.  “Didn’t think you had much of a talent for fading into the background with that mouth of yours, but you’ve certainly led us a merry dance all these years. Didn’t even touch the money we put aside for you.”

“You mean the money my _grandmother_ put aside for me.”

“Well.”  She smiled without warmth.  “It’ll be ours soon enough.  No one’s been able to find sweet little Isabelle Schwartz, after all.  The general thinking is that she’s dead. Such a tragedy.”

Lacey raised an arm and let it fall, glancing around herself.

“Weird,” she said flatly.  “And yet here I am. Having the crap bored out of me.”

“Yes.”  Fiona pursed her lips, looking her up and down.  “But you’re not _her_ , are you?  No no, your name is Lacey, now.  Lacey _Weaver_ , I do believe.”

A finger of ice slipped down Lacey’s spine, melting as it went to form a cold pool at the base of her spine.   _Oh God, please tell me they don’t know about him.  Please._ She tried to keep her face impassive, but Fiona’s smile grew.

“Can’t imagine what made you choose _that_ name,” she added.  “You sound like a common prostitute.”

“Takes one to know one, I guess.”

Fiona’s nostrils flared, her eyes flashing, but she kept that wide, insincere smile.

“I see your manners haven’t improved.”

“Look, can we just cut to the chase?” snapped Lacey.  “What the hell do you want?”

“Such hostility,” purred Fiona.  “And here I am with the answer to all your dreams.”

“You know nothing about my dreams,” said Lacey abruptly.  “If you did you’d leave me alone.”

Fiona peered at the folder of documents under her arm, tugging at them before Lacey could wrench away.

“Well well,” she said.  “Finally trying to claw your way out of the gutter you like to wallow in?  How _cute_!  You always were desperately unambitious, but this is almost adorable...”

Lacey flushed with shame.

“I think we’re done here,” she said bluntly, and made to walk past.  Fiona grasped her arm.

“I didn’t travel all the way up here just to trade insults,” she said.  “Why don’t you sit down with me? Fifteen minutes, that’s all I ask.”

“Not interested.”

“Oh, I think you will be,” she said.  “I think you’ll be very interested.”

“I left that life for a reason,” said Lacey curtly.  “And I don’t intend to go back.”

“I can be very persuasive,” said Fiona, her eyes glinting.  “You remember that, I’m sure. Do you really want to put me to the test?”

The ice at the base of her spine seemed to spread upwards, and Lacey swallowed hard.  Fiona’s smile grew.

“Just one _teensy_ little favour,” she crooned.  “And you can go back to your pointless little life with your dear detective.”

Lacey shifted uncomfortably, her heart thumping in trepidation.   _How much do they know?  Everything, knowing them.  God, they could kill him. They could kill him and they wouldn’t lose a wink of sleep over it._

“Actually, we’re getting divorced,” she said, her voice flat and emotionless, and Fiona’s eyebrows lifted.

“Really?” she said, her tone sceptical.  “Well, I must confess I did wonder at the state of your marriage, given what I’d been told.  I mean there’s the age difference, for a start—”

“Oh, what the hell do you care how old he is...”

“—not to mention the fact that he probably drinks too much and never gets home on time.”

“He’s a good man!” snapped Lacey, unwilling to badmouth Weaver even in the midst of a lie meant to keep him safe.  “He did the right thing, stepped up when he had to. It’s not his fault if it didn’t work out.”

“And here I was thinking that you’d settled into the dull routine of matrimony,” she said sweetly.  “Oh, but of course!  You had a daughter, didn’t you?  Matilda Rose?  Such a pretty name...”

Lacey wanted to grind her teeth, her fists clenching.

“Touch my child and I’ll fucking _end_ you!”

Fiona drew back, tutting sadly.

“Language, young lady!” she chided.  “What sort of company have you been keeping?  I’m sure we raised you better than that.”

 _“‘Raised me’.”_ The words dripped with disgust as they fell from Lacey’s lips.  “You didn’t fucking _raise me_ , you groomed me!  Tried to make me think you were saving my ass, when all you saw was a fucking meal ticket. Getting out of Vegas was the best thing I ever did.”

Fiona’s eyes flashed, her mouth twisting into a wintry smile, always a sign of danger.

“The thing about running away, dear, is that it’s a _coward’s_ way out,” she said, the false, soft sweetness gone from her voice and replaced with sharp tones, the words cutting shards of obsidian.  “But then you always were a pathetic worm hiding in the body of a loudmouth, weren’t you? Shouting and clawing at the world around you because you’re too afraid to look inward and see that you deserved _everything_ that happened to you.”

The words made Lacey cringe, made her want to curl into a ball and wrap her arms around her head and shut out the world as she wept.  She had told herself long ago that she would never do that again, and so she squared her jaw and raised her chin. It made her squirm; every atom in her body was telling her to run, to hide, but she stood her ground, her heart thumping.

“I’m not nine anymore,” she said coldly.  “Life’s a bitch, and so are you, so how about we ditch the reminiscing and you tell me what the hell you want?”

“Like I said.”  Fiona’s smile was as cold as her eyes.  “Fifteen minutes.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last time in the present, Lacey told Weaver that she wanted to try to make things work, and that she was going to try to be more open with him. And then she asked him to stay the night. Here's what happened the next day.
> 
> I'm not saying that you HAVE to have read the prequel Opening Lines before reading this, because it'll make sense without it, but there will be references in this chapter to things that happened in that fic.

_Present Day_

* * *

Weaver woke slowly, the scent of fresh coffee drifting into his nose and pulling him out of a pleasant dream. He rolled onto his back, ears registering the sound of the bedroom door opening, and ran a hand over his face, groggy with sleep.

“Daddy!”

Weaver grunted as Tilly landed on his chest with a thump and a giggle.  He opened his eyes a crack, and she was perched on his belly, grinning at him in red pyjamas with a cartoon fire-breathing dragon on the chest. Weaver pushed up onto his elbows, the covers falling from his shoulders as he put an arm around her and kissed the top of her head, hugging her close.

“Mornin’ darling,” he murmured, and Tilly settled against his chest, raising a hand to pat his right nipple.

“You got no clothes on!” she said accusingly, and he rubbed an eye, yawning.

“Yeah, I know, sweetheart.  I forgot to bring my jammies, okay?”

“Mummy got jammies!” she said brightly, as if that was the obvious solution.

“She does,” agreed Weaver.  “And very pretty they look on her, but I doubt they’d fit me.”

“Oh, I don’t know.”  Lacey’s voice from the doorway made him look up.  “I think you’d look good in the red flannel pair. Maybe a little tight on the butt, but that’s not a bad thing.”

She was smiling slightly, but it didn’t reach her eyes, which were dark and troubled.  Her arms were folded, as though she was protecting herself, her shoulders a little hunched.  Weaver shifted, arm tightening around Tilly as he sat up.

“You okay?” he asked cautiously.

“Sure, why wouldn’t I be?”  She looked away, towards the kitchen.  “You want coffee?”

“Thank you.”

Tilly had stuck her thumb in her mouth, and he kissed her forehead.  Lacey was watching them, chewing her lip with an expression he couldn’t interpret, but she nodded and turned away without a word.

Weaver sighed, settling back in the pillows as Tilly snuggled against him. It had been a long night, and Lacey had been fierce and desperate and passionate. By the feel of it, his back had several rows of scratches, and he was tired and aching all over. He had poured every ounce of feeling into the sex, and she had cried and clung to him and said she was sorry, though for what he wasn’t sure, and he hadn’t pressed her for an explanation. It was the most unguarded they had been with one another in months, even though it almost felt like she was saying goodbye, but in the cold light of day it seemed that they were back to square one. So be it. Nolan was right. He was a bloody detective, after all, and Lacey had been a mystery for far too long.

He ran a hand over his face, the scent of her arousal still heady on his fingers. A glance at the clock on the nightstand showed that it was gone seven-thirty, and he really needed to be in work within the hour. With any luck, it would be a quiet morning, and he could get some time alone to think. There had to be a thread tying everything together. Even if he couldn’t yet see which points that thread joined up.

Lacey came back through, a steaming mug in one hand and a plate in the other.  He could smell toast, and pushed himself upright once more. Tilly grumbled at being made to move.

“You go eat your breakfast in the lounge, okay?” said Lacey, and she pulled her thumb from her mouth, pouting slightly.

“I wanna eat it here.”

“No toast in bed, baby, you know the rules.”

“Go on.”  Weaver kissed the top of her head.  “Daddy doesn’t want crumbs in his butt.”

Tilly giggled, but slipped from the bed and toddled over to Lacey, taking the plate from her in careful hands and trotting off to the lounge.  Lacey set the mug of coffee down on the nightstand and stepped back, teeth tugging at her lower lip again. Weaver nodded at the coffee.

“You not having one?”

“Yeah,” she said, after a pause.  “I - I wondered if you wanted breakfast.”

“Coffee’ll do,” he said.  “Go on, get your own.”

She opened her mouth, as though she was about to say something, but seemed to think better of it, and went back to the kitchen.  He could hear the sound of the TV from the lounge, and Lacey pushed the door to with her foot as she came back in. He expected her to sit on the edge of the bed, away from him, so was surprised when she climbed on beside him and sat back against the pillows with a sigh.

“How did you sleep?” he asked tentatively, and she shrugged.

“Well, you were awake with me for most of it, so…”

He grinned at that.

“Okay, point taken.”  He took a sip of the coffee, wincing as it burned his tongue.  “Shit!”

“Yeah, you might want to leave it ten minutes,” she said.  “You sure about breakfast? I could do some eggs.”

He shook his head.

“I’ll have to get going soon,” he said, and glanced at her.  “How - uh - how do you want to work things this week? I know I said I’d take Tilly Wednesday through Friday, but I can be flexible. You know, barring any major developments on the Vice front.”

“No need to change anything,” she said.  “I’ll have her today and tomorrow, bring her over to the precinct on Wednesday, you can bring her back Friday evening.”

“And the weekend?”

Lacey hesitated.

“Maybe - maybe we can talk about that,” she said.  “Later in the week.”

Her tentative suggestion made hope flare in his chest, and he shifted, sitting up a little more.

“Alright,” he said.  “Maybe we could do something.  Drive out of the city, get a change of scene.  I bet Tilly would like the woods.”

“Not really the weather for walking.”

“It’s just a thought.”

“Yeah.”  She let her head drop.  “Well, like I said. We’ll talk about it later.”

He nodded, not wanting to push for more than she was willing to give.  At least she seemed open to the idea of spending a couple of days together, which was more than she had done in months.

“Right.”  He took another sip of coffee.  Still too hot, but he kept at it.  “I guess I’d better get dressed.”

“Okay.”

He set down his cup, slipping from the bed to gather his clothes.  He could feel her eyes on him as he dressed, tugging jeans over his hips and buckling his belt.  He sat down to pull on his boots, deft fingers tugging the laces and tying in double knots. He really needed a clean shirt, but he had time to get home and pick one up. If he left now.

Getting to his feet, he picked up the coffee as he turned to face her.  Lacey had drawn up her knees and wrapped one arm around them, her head a little bent.  She looked small and sad, and he wanted to climb back onto the bed and take her in his arms and tell her everything was going to be okay.  He doubted she’d welcome it. Or believe him. He gulped at the coffee, the liquid just cool enough to drink without blistering his mouth.

“Right,” he said.  “I’ll see you Wednesday, then.”

“Okay.”

He wanted to kiss her, but he didn’t, simply nodding to her and taking his mug through to the kitchen to rinse it out.  He said goodbye to Tilly, receiving a firm hug and a peanut butter-laden kiss on the cheek. She grumbled about his stubble, which made him grin, and he kissed her hair.

“You look after Mummy, okay?” he said.  “Make sure Dragon burns up any bad people, got it?”

“Okay,” she said stoutly, and he grinned and kissed her again.

“Bye, sweetheart.”

The day was bright when he left the apartment, a biting wind whistling along the streets and the sky a harsh, vibrant blue.  He walked quickly, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket until he reached the car. It was still early, the sun only just rising, gleaming red-gold in the windows as it climbed.  Back to his lonely apartment, a change of shirt, and he could make it to work before Dunbroch had made the coffee.

* * *

Forty minutes later, he was sitting at his desk, pencil tapping against his notebook as he stared unseeing at the screen in front of him.  He had taken Nolan’s words to heart, and was starting to consider the current situation with Lacey as though it were one of his cases.   _The Mystery of the Miserable Wife_ , he thought wryly, and his mouth flattened.  Perhaps he was being ridiculous. Perhaps she really had grown bored of him, and their life together.  Perhaps he was looking for external causes for their break-up, when all he really had to do was look in the fucking mirror.

“No,” he muttered, throwing the pencil down in frustration.  “There’s more to it, I fucking know it.”

“Talking to yourself, Weaver?”  Merida’s voice made him look around.  “First sign of madness, you know.”

“I thought I’d blown way past the fucking first,” he sighed, and she chuckled.

“You and me both,” she said.  “Here.”

Weaver sat back in his chair, nodding his thanks as she handed him a coffee, and frowned as he started thinking about how he might approach his current problem.  Perhaps if he worked through things logically, methodically. Used what patience he had to construct an accurate timeline, and let his gut do the rest of the work until he had some hard evidence.  It had always worked before.

“You look like you’re thinking _really hard_ ,” observed Merida.  “Want me to call an ambulance?”

He shot her a flat look, and she shoved him fondly to show she was joking.

“Do you remember that murder case from a few years back?” he said.  “Isaac Heller. He was a lawyer. Got shot in the head and dumped in the harbour.”

Merida frowned, nose creasing as she pursed her lips.

“Wasn’t that the one Lacey witnessed?” she said.  “Yeah, I remember you and Nolan looking into it. Didn’t we turn up to arrest the guys that did it, and Nolan got shot?”

“That’s the one.”

“We never caught the scum that shot him, did we?”

“Not alive, no,” he said grimly.  “Their bodies turned up along the coast a few weeks later, though.  Not an easy I.D.”

“That’s about the extent of my memories of that case, sorry.”

“Fine, I’ll check the records instead.”

“What’s made you bring this up?” she asked.  “You thinking of going back to Homicide?”

“No, just - just trying to tie up some loose ends,” he said.  “We thought the killers might have been hired thugs for some casino down in Vegas, I think.  Never had the evidence to question anyone, but we passed the info to the Vegas P.D anyway. Don’t know if anything came of it.”

“Let me pull the file,” she said.  “Pretty sure there’s something in the evidence room, maybe it’ll spark that brain of yours into life.”

“Wish something would,” he grumbled, and she chuckled and went out.

He went through his messages while she was gone, rattling off replies to some and filing or deleting others, taking sips of coffee as he did so.  The sound of footsteps registered as he was tapping out a response to a query on a relatively new case, and Merida dropped a brown envelope on the desk, making him jump.

“This was in the evidence room,” she said.  “Not much in it, by the feel of it, but maybe it’ll trigger something.”

Weaver opened it up, pulling out a folded piece of paper, memories crowding back in as he opened it up to reveal a green sticky note and one line written in a looping scrawl.   _The price is paid._ He wondered if it had been meant for Heller, or for someone else.  Perhaps the person who had ordered the two thugs to track Heller down.  Perhaps someone else entirely.

The sticky note was still firmly in place on the letter, one corner curling up, a series of letters and numbers written on it in pen that had dug into the paper.  He didn’t think they had ever managed to work out what the code was for; certainly it had matched nothing in Heller’s possession or on his computer, and their enquiries at the cycle dispatch company that Lacey had been working at had yielded nothing.  Peering into the envelope, he spied the glint of silver at the bottom. A tiny key, the sort that opened secure lockers, or safe deposit boxes. They had never found out what that was for, either.

After a moment, he took photographs of the code written on the sticky note, of the tiny key, and of the letter.  Perhaps there was something he had missed, and the visual reminder would help him figure it out.  He checked the file for the Heller case, but could find no evidence of anything happening since they had sent their own findings to the Vegas P.D.  The case had been cold for some time, and he suspected that there would be no justice for the late Mr Heller.

He glanced at the spare whiteboard to the side of his desk, but elected not to use it.  The Heller case was not technically his anymore, and in any event he wanted to widen his investigation.  There was also a nagging thought at the back of his mind that was telling him to work this one out on his own.  He opened up a new document on his computer instead, and started writing down everything that he could remember from the first moment he had met Lacey, including dates and times, as near as he could pin them down in his brain.  He started from the night they had met, moving on to the investigations he had been doing at the time, the people he had questioned, the places Lacey had worked. It meant checking back in his old case files and his diary, as well as trying to unearth old memories, but the timeline soon began to take shape.

Weaver finished writing about the night that Nolan had been shot, and that Lacey had left, and sat back, frowning as he read over what he had so far.  It was going to take awhile to get down everything that had happened in the past four years, but if he could get to the bottom of Lacey’s current behaviour, it would be worth it.  There had to be something in there, some clue that would point to where things had started to go wrong, and he was growing more convinced that it was an external force rather than the two of them simply imploding.  The thought was strangely comforting, even as anger began to fester in him. He squashed it down, dousing the flames with cool reason as much as he could. She was scared, she was in danger, and she needed his help.  That was enough for now.

Detective Fa turned up just as he was reading through what he had so far, giving him her usual abrupt greeting and taking a cup of coffee from Merida with a beaming smile.  Weaver rolled his eyes. The two of them still hadn’t done anything about the fact that they were hopelessly in love with each other, and he was beginning to think they never would.

“You all set for tomorrow morning?” asked Fa, dark ponytail swishing as she turned back to face him.  “I think we’re as prepared as we can be.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said vaguely.  “I’ll meet you here. Five o’clock?”

“Make it four-thirty,” she said.  “I want to catch those bastards sleeping.”

“Sounds good.”

“What are you working on?”

“What?  Oh, nothing.”

He minimised the window, swinging around on his chair and waving his coffee mug at Merida until she filled it up.  She swore at him as she did so, which made him grin.

“With any luck we can wrap this thing up tomorrow and it’ll be another meth lab out of commission,” said Fa, rolling her shoulders tiredly.  “Which only leaves like a dozen others.”

“And the rest,” he grumbled, and they shared a weary smile.  “Sometimes it feels like everything we do is pointless. You take one down, another three pop up.  It’s like fucking Whack-a-Mole.”

“Then we need a bigger mallet,” she said.  “Drake’s gonna go to the chief, ask for more resource.”

“Good luck to her,” he said, with feeling.  “I doubt she’ll get it.”

“Me too, but at least she’s trying.”  She took a drink of coffee, her eyes following Merida as she left the room with a bunch of paperwork in hand.  “You want to go for a drink afterwards?”

“Depends what time we get finished, I guess,” he said.  “I’m having Tilly on Wednesday, so I don’t want a late night, but I’ll put in for the bar tab if you lot are in the mood to celebrate.”

“That’s fair.”

Weaver sat back in his chair, pursing his lips as he looked her over.

“Here’s a wild idea from out of the blue,” he said.  “Why don’t you and Officer Dunbroch spend some quality time together in Roni’s bar?  Take some of my hard-earned money, get shit-faced, go back to your place and shag each other silly.”

Fa’s mouth dropped open.

 _“Weaver,_ oh my _God!”_

“I’m serious!” he protested.  “The two of you have been driving the entire precinct up the bloody wall for years now!”

“I don’t believe this…”

She shook her head, blushing furiously.

“Look, just because my private life’s gone to shit doesn’t mean love’s doomed, okay?” he said impatiently. “Just - just bloody well kiss her, damn the pair of you!”

Fa glared at him, grinding her teeth, and buried her nose in her coffee cup as Merida stomped back in.

“Drake wants to see you both about the raid tomorrow,” she announced.  “Best get your arses to her office.”

Weaver pushed back his chair, getting to his feet and smirking at Fa, who was still blushing.

“Oh look,” she said sarcastically.  “Work. What we turn up at this place for, instead of interfering in other people’s lives.  How about that?”

“We interfere in other people’s lives all the time,” he said dismissively.  “At least you know my intentions are good where you’re concerned.”

“You can take your intentions and shove ‘em.”

“What are you two on about?” asked Merida curiously.

“Nothing!” said Fa, glaring at Weaver as though daring him to contradict her.  “Just work. That’s it.”

“Work takes priority until we’re done with this raid tomorrow,” he said snidely.  “After that, I’ll be expecting you to forget about the job and take a little time for yourself, got it?”

“Does that mean _you_ will?” she asked, in a wry tone, and he shot her a look.

“Move your arse, go on,” he grumbled, and she gave him a satisfied smirk, slinking out of the office ahead of him.

* * *

Lacey’s day had started well, wrapped in her husband’s arms, warm and safe and happy.  Until, of course, she had fully woken, and remembered that they were supposed to be separated, they were living apart, and she had been given a task to perform.  It would have to be soon; the way things were going she didn’t trust herself not to break down and tell him everything, and there was too much at stake to risk that.

She thought it over as she washed up the breakfast things after he had left, teeth tugging nervously at her lip. Tilly was still watching TV, the noise from the lounge a cheerful cacophony of music and squeaky voices from the cartoon characters she was so engrossed with.  Lacey scrubbed at the cup in her hand, taking out her frustration on the coffee stains. The buzz of her phone made her jump, and she wiped her hands on a towel, reaching for it.  Her heart sank as she saw a message, the incoming number identified as _Work_.  Two words, no more.   _Seven thirty_.

Scowling at the phone, Lacey quickly texted back _okay_ and dropped it on the counter.  It would mean asking Roni if she could watch Tilly for an hour or so while she went over there, but she suspected that wouldn’t be a problem.  Tilly would like seeing Henry, anyway. Nodding to herself, her mind made up, she set the clean cup on the drainer, and picked up the next. There could be no more delays.

* * *

At twenty-eight minutes past seven that evening, Lacey squared her shoulders, flexed her fingers, and stalked into the bar of _The Rabbit Hole_ as though she was marching into battle.  Her heart was thumping in her chest, her breathing uneven, but she told herself that if the person she was going to meet wanted her dead, she already would be.  Not to say that they would care if she died once she had served her purpose, of course, but she had long abandoned any hope of a happy ending for herself in all this.  The past four years had been a pleasant dream, one from which she had always been destined to wake. She told herself it didn’t matter.

Despite what she had said to Weaver, Lacey hadn’t worked since Tilly was born, and hadn’t done a shift at _The Rabbit Hole_ since the night she had first moved into his apartment four years earlier.  The place hadn’t changed for the better in that time, and if anything the customer base was even worse, but she ignored the stares and leers she received from the men huddled over round tables sticky with spilled beer.  She ignored Garrett too, and for his part he said nothing to her when she entered, merely sneering and jerking his head towards the back. Lacey raised her chin as she passed him, resisting the urge to smirk at the bruises that hadn’t quite faded from the beating Weaver had given him.  The bastard deserved it.

The bar had a room upstairs that was reached by a narrow staircase, and was frequently used by unsavoury types to discuss their affairs, with Garrett keeping an eye out for police, Feds, or rivals for his customers’ business interests.  The stairs creaked as Lacey climbed, heart hammering in her throat, fingers shaking a little as they grasped at the banister, rough with flaking paint. She reached the top, and almost screamed as a figure loomed out of the darkness. Swallowing her terror, she scowled as she recognised Arthur, with his oily smile and perfectly-groomed beard.

“Right on time,” he drawled.  “It’s so heartening to know you can keep your promises.”

“Go fuck yourself,” she muttered, and pushed past him as he laughed softly.

He fell into step behind her as she walked to the door on the right, standing almost close enough to brush against her.  It made her shudder, but she clenched her jaw, balling her hands into fists as she glanced over her shoulder.

“So, is there some sort of secret knock, or are you guys done with the dramatics?” she asked, in a dry tone, and Arthur reached over her shoulder and rapped on the door.

It opened almost immediately, creaking slowly as it did so, and Lacey took a breath as the room beyond came into view.  A single bulb hung from the ceiling, casting a yellowish light over the room. The tall man who had opened the door peered at her from deep-set eyes beneath a heavy brow, his face expressionless.  He stepped back, moving against the wall and giving her a view of what awaited her. A table faced the door, surrounded by four chairs, and a woman was seated opposite her, elbows resting on the table, hands clasped together. She was slender, brown hair neatly brushed up and pinned on top of her head, a demure blue dress covering her to the neck, long sleeves reaching to her thin wrists. Pretty, with small features and a tiny, knowing smile that never left her face, she gestured to the chair in front of her.

“Isabelle,” she said pleasantly.  “Do have a seat.”

Lacey raised her chin, folding her arms and taking a firm stance.

“It’s Lacey,” she said curtly.

“Yes, I heard you’d changed your name,” said the woman.  “I suppose that was to be expected. You can imagine the fun we had, trying to work out what you might have called yourself.  My first guess was Elizabeth.”

“Like I give a crap,” said Lacey flatly.  “I’m not here to talk over old times or pretend I care that you’ve been looking for me, Azurine.  Just tell me what you want.”

“Hmm.”  The woman looked a little perturbed, but shrugged.  “Fiona said you’d become insufferably rude. You always were an ungrateful creature.”

Lacey bit the insides of her cheeks to keep her vitriol internal, and swallowed hard as she stared the woman down.  Eventually Azurine rolled her eyes with a sigh.

“I hadn’t intended to come all the way up here from our home, as you might imagine,” she said.  “However, it so happened that I had business in Seattle, and I thought I might kill two birds with one stone.  As it were.”

Her eyes held Lacey’s for a moment, the threat unspoken but plain, hanging in the air between them.  Lacey licked her lips.

“I’ve had some difficulty in getting what you asked for,” she said, shifting position a little.  “It’s not exactly easy.”

“What, with your estranged husband getting in the way?”  Azurine pursed her lips, looking thoughtful. “You know, if he’s proving too much of a burden, we can always fix that.”

“No!”  Lacey realised she had shouted, and shook her head, trying to remain calm even as her heart thundered in her chest.  “You promised not to hurt him.”

Azurine looked satisfied at her outburst, and nodded slowly.

“Such a caring nature,” she purred.  “We always felt that you could be so much more than you led us to believe.”

Memories of her old life clamoured from the depths of the dark chest she had shoved at the back of her mind, and Lacey shuddered, blocking out the noise.

“Look, just leave him out of this,” she said.  “I can get what you need, just as I promised. Give me a week, and I’ll have it.”

“We’ve already given you months.”

“Yeah, and it’s taken time to make him trust me enough to let me near,” she said impatiently, waving a hand. “We’re getting divorced, or have you forgotten? It doesn’t exactly lend itself to intimate little chats.”

Azurine regarded her with narrowed eyes, and Lacey hoped that her ability to lie and deflect had improved significantly over the years.

“When will you have it?” she asked then.  Lacey tried not to sigh with relief.

“I can complete phase one by the end of the week, I think,” she said.  “I have to be subtle about this, okay? Then it’s onto phase two.”

“For which I presume you’ll need our assistance.”

“I already told you what I needed.”

“Indeed you did.”

Azurine glanced to her left and nodded curtly.  The tall man reached into the inside pocket of his black coat and withdrew a padded envelope, which Azurine took from him with a smile.  She placed it on the table, pushing it across with slender, manicured fingers, and Lacey stared at it. The envelope was unmarked and light brown, its edges a little crumpled.

“You’ll find everything you need in there.”

Lacey hesitated, then took a step forwards, reaching for the envelope, fingers closing on it with the crackle of paper.  She slipped it inside her jacket.

“We’ll expect an update by the end of the week,” said Azurine.  “You can send it via Arthur.”

“Fine,” muttered Lacey.  “Is that it?”

“Save one final reminder.”  She looked up, tapping fingertips together.  “Any further delays will have consequences. Our patience isn’t infinite, Isabelle.”

Her voice was cold, her eyes like flint above that tiny smile, and Lacey tightened her jaw.

“I’ll do it,” she said stiffly.  “I’ll keep my promise. Just be sure to keep yours.”

Azurine smiled.

“Then their fates are in your hands, are they not?” she asked.  “Make sure you do nothing that might endanger them.”

“Fine.”  Lacey scowled at her, and raised her arms, letting them fall to her side, hands slapping against her thighs as she glanced around.  “So, is that everything, or do you want to villain-monologue me to death?”

"That's everything."  Azurine raised her head.  "We'll be expecting your call."

Lacey nodded, stepping back and turning on her heel as Arthur opened the door to let her out.  She ignored him, sweeping past, her head held high.  Inside she was shaking, but she wasn't about to show it.  She made her way down the creaking stairs, breezing through the bar without a word to Garrett, and strode out into the street without a backward glance.

* * *

Weaver reflected that sometimes, the universe at least _appeared_ to be on his side.  The early-morning raid had been an unqualified success; there had been twelve arrests, a large haul of drugs and around two hundred thousand dollars in cash had been seized, and the officers and detectives involved were congratulated on a job well done.  They celebrated by leaving early and heading to Roni’s, who was delighted to get an unexpected boost in trade. Weaver was true to his word and put a wad of cash behind the bar, but he wasn’t interested in drinking any of his own money, merely buying a coffee and sitting at the bar as his colleagues chatted and laughed.  Roni refilled his cup, eyeing him curiously.

“Not in the mood to celebrate?” she asked.  “From what I can overhear things went well.”

“Oh, today was a good day as far as the job goes,” he admitted.  “But on a personal level I’m still up Shit Creek, no paddle, and no idea where the current’s fucking taking me.”

Roni fixed him with a flat stare, hands on hips.

“Haven’t you two made up yet?” she asked.  “This is the most ridiculous break-up ever.  It’s obvious neither of you wants it, so what gives?”

Weaver sighed, slouching over the bar a little more.

“I don’t know,” he said.  “But I’m gonna find out. One way or another.”

“Just tell her you love her and you want to make it work.”

“You think I haven’t tried that?” he demanded.  “There’s something else going on.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.”  He tapped his fingers on the bar.  “Has she been in here looking for work?”

Roni looked surprised.

“Lacey?  No, why?”

“Never mind.”   _So, she wasn’t so desperate for money that she asked Roni for a job.  Thought as much._ “Has she been in here at all?”

“Only to bring Tilly over to play with Henry,” she said.  “She came over yesterday, actually.”

Weaver’s eyes narrowed.

“Yesterday?  When.”

“I don’t know - seven?”

“What time did she get back?”

“Maybe eight, eight-thirty?”

Weaver nodded.   _So, not work, then.  Running an errand? Why wouldn’t she take Tilly, in that case?_

”Did she say where she was going?”

Roni shook her head.

“She just said she had to go somewhere, and she wouldn’t be long.”

“Have you seen her with anyone else?”

“You think she’s cheating on you?”

“No.”  He shook his head, sitting back.  “Besides, we’re not together. Not sure it would count.”

“I don’t think she’d do that, anyway,” she said.  “Pretty clear to me she still loves you.”

“Is it?”  He grimaced, and took a slurp of coffee.  “I don’t know what’s clear anymore. Anyway, I wasn’t asking about potential new lovers, for what it’s worth.  Have you seen anyone else around her? Anyone at all?”

She shook her head.

“Sorry.”

“Okay.”  He took another drink.  “I’m sure there’s something I’m missing.  I keep trying to pull these threads together and it’s like grasping at bloody water.”

“Maybe you need a new perspective,” she suggested.  “Take a step back, look at the big picture.”

Weaver sat up a little.

“You could be right,” he said.  “I’ve been running through everything on a bloody single document on the computer.  I need something like the whiteboard I use. Something I can create a picture with.”

“So take a whiteboard back to your place,” she said, and he shook his head.

“I don’t want her to think that I’m - I’m investigating her like she’s a criminal,” he said.

“Are you saying you’re not?” she said, and he pulled a face, puffing out his cheeks and slumping onto his elbows again.

“I just want answers, Roni,” he said wearily.  “I want answers and she’s too frightened or too bloody stubborn to give me them.  If we’re really over then I’ll accept it, but I’m not gonna walk away if the problem isn’t with us, you know?”

“Okay,” she said.  “So what’s your plan?”

“I’m gonna take a whiteboard from work,” he said.  “But I won’t be taking it to my place.”

* * *

Weaver pulled up onto the driveway of David Nolan’s house, a bottle of wine on the seat beside him, along with a packet of cupcakes with chocolate frosting and a bunch of flowers.  He figured that if he was going to be using part of the Nolan’s garage, he may as well come bearing gifts.  Nolan had opened the garage door and was watching him from his wheelchair on the porch as Weaver backed the car in a little way and then got out.

“Set up wherever you think best,” called Nolan.  “You want a beer?”

“Thanks.”

Weaver heard the front door close, and went around to the back of the car, opening up the trunk and lifting out the whiteboard on its stand.  He set it up at the side, where the light fell on it and where he had enough room to walk around and collect his thoughts.  There was a folder of documents in the trunk, and he opened it up, a picture of Lacey lying on the top.  It was a photocopy of the photo he kept on his desk, taken on the beach at Port Angeles, not long after they were married.  She was smiling, her eyes shining, strands of hair brushing her cheeks in what he recalled had been a stiff breeze.  She looked happy.  He wished it were true.

He stuck the picture in the middle of the board with a magnetic tab, and brushed Lacey’s cheek with the tip of his forefinger, holding that frozen smile in his mind for a moment.  Then he picked up one of the board markers, and started writing.

By the time Nolan had brought him a beer, the whiteboard was starting to take shape, with Lacey at the centre and the places and people connected to her, however tenuously, scattered around the outside.  He nodded his thanks as he took the beer, swigging from the bottle as Nolan looked the board over.

“Not much so far,” he observed.  “What about her family?”

“Well, that’s just it.”  Weaver settled back on his heels.  “She never talked about them. No one was invited to the wedding, she didn’t contact anyone when Tilly was born…  The few conversations we had touching on her old life - well, she never wanted to talk about it. From the little she let slip I figured her family was abusive, so I didn’t really push.”

“Where were they from?”

“Melbourne originally, moved over to Nevada when she was a kid.”

“Well, maybe that’s something to work on.”

“Yeah, maybe.”  He took another drink, looking around.  “Look, thanks for letting me do this. I don’t feel all that great, investigating my own wife, but I definitely don’t want Tilly seeing me do it.”

“Hey,” said Nolan gently.  “You’re trying to keep her safe.  Keep both of them safe.”

“I know.”  Weaver took another drink.  “Maybe in the end she’ll thank me.”

Nolan pushed his chair closer to the board, one wheel squeaking faintly.

“Want me to put some oil on that?”

“What?  Oh, no, it’s fine.  I’ll do it later.”  He gestured at the board.  “You put _The Rabbit Hole_ on there.  Did you ever find out why Lacey went back there?”

“No.”  Weaver frowned.  “And she didn’t ask Roni for work, so it wasn’t lack of cash like she told me, not that I believed that.”

“Must have been something serious to make her want to go back to that dive and the creep that hit her that time.”

“See, that’s something else.”  Weaver began pacing. “I thought the bastard had hit her again, so I went down there to beat the crap out of him, but he said it wasn’t him.  Whoever it was, he wouldn’t tell me. Looked scared.”

“Someone higher up the food chain than him, then,” mused Nolan.

“Yeah,” said Weaver grimly.  “Sharks eat the little fish, and the bottom-feeders hang around and wait for the waters to clear.”

“So maybe you need to find a bottom-feeder,” suggested Nolan, and Weaver grinned.

“My thoughts exactly.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may want to read the prequel at this point. Not absolutely essential, but there's stuff in here that refers to what happened in Opening Lines.
> 
> Last time in the past, Lacey was waylaid by an old enemy just as her life was going really well...

_Four months earlier_

* * *

Lacey scowled at Fiona Schwartz’s back as she was led down the street to a nearby diner.  Two tall men followed them, clad in dark suits and with identical flat, expressionless faces.  Lacey ignored them; she recognised hired muscle when she saw it, but they had no reason to cause her trouble unless she attacked Fiona.   _And don’t think I’m not tempted, you arseholes._  The diner was cheerfully noisy, busy with the lunchtime rush, and they took a table by the window, the two goons standing outside with folded arms and lowered brows, dogs awaiting their mistress.

“I think I might have an iced tea,” said Fiona, as she took a seat.  “The weather is delightful, don’t you think? If a little humid.”

“I’m not here for tea and polite chit-chat,” said Lacey bluntly.  “State your business and piss off.”

Fiona rolled her eyes with a sigh, but beckoned to the waitress and ordered two iced teas.  She sat back in her chair, hands folded in her lap, and smiled faintly as Lacey scowled.

“To business, then,” she said, and raised an eyebrow.  “We need you to do something.”

“Not interested.”

“At least hear me out before you dismiss me completely.”

“Why should I?”

“Because we have so much to offer,” purred Fiona, leaning forward.  “You remember, I’m sure.”

“I remember wanting to get as far away from you as I could.”

“Lack of ambition always _was_ your downfall.”

“If being safe and secure shows a lack of ambition, I guess you’re right.”

“Oh, is that what you are?” she asked.  “You tell me your marriage is failing, so you’re soon to be a single mother, in a two-bed that you rent and with no decent prospects.  Yes, very secure.”

She glanced away with a twist of her lips, and Lacey scowled. _Did your homework, huh?  Bitch._

“Still better than the life I had with you,” she said.  “And I’m not interested in anything you have to offer. As far as I’m concerned you can all go fuck yourselves and take your time doing it.”

Fiona’s nostrils flared, a sign of anger, but she continued to smile sweetly.

“Very well,” she said.  “You can’t say I didn’t try to be pleasant, but if that’s the way you want to play things, I’m more than happy to be the evil stepmother you like to portray me as.”

Lacey could feel her heart thump faster, fear rising in her, but she raised her chin, as though she would snarl and bite at the threat facing her.

“What do you want?” she snapped.  “I won’t ask again.”

The waitress brought the iced teas, tall glasses frosted with condensation, slices of lemon wedged in among the ice cubes and clear plastic straws sticking upwards.  Fiona tapped her fingers on the table, red-painted nails drumming in a staccato rhythm.

“You have something of ours,” she said.

“Bullshit!” said Lacey fiercely.  “I left over ten years ago, and all I took was the money I’d saved and the clothes I could carry!  I don’t have anything of yours! I don’t _want_ anything of yours!”

“Oh, rein in your temper, girl, please!” snapped Fiona.  “I didn’t say you were aware of it, did I?”

Silence had fallen in the diner, the customers on other tables looking at them curiously, and Lacey sat back with a scowl, folding her arms.  Fiona rolled her eyes as the patrons turned away and the background noise started up again.

“Fine,” said Lacey bluntly.  “What do you think I have?”

"Well, among other things, an opportunity," she said.  "An opportunity for you to prove your loyalty to your family.  To ensure its continued prosperity in the face of those who would seek to destroy it."

Lacey burst out laughing, sitting back.

"Someone wants to take you down and you come to  _me_?" she said, with derision.  "Please!  I'd be cheering them on!"

Fiona's mouth flattened, and she shook her head.

"I told Azurine it was pointless," she said, almost to herself.  "You always did respond more to the stick than the carrot.  Very well, consider it an opportunity to save whatever sad little life you've managed to scrape out for yourself."

Lacey sat back up slowly, nervous again.

"At least you've dropped the phoney concern," she remarked.  "We're back to threats.  Good, at least I know where I stand.  Who is it that's got you running scared?" 

Fiona took a sip of her tea, setting down the glass.

“Your father wants you back,” she said abruptly.

“I don’t know how many ways I can tell you to go fuck yourselves..."

"He's obsessed with succession planning at the moment," she went on, as though Lacey hadn't spoken.  "Must be his age making him worry so, and the fact that his only child turned her back on him like an ungrateful little brat."

Lacey stared at her stonily.

"You remember how he gets," added Fiona.  "Apt to fits of - violence.  Your betrayal hurt him deeply.  I'm sure having you back, along with something he wants as a peace offering, would ease his mind a little.  Make him a little less - impulsive."

"Peace offering?" asked Lacey suspiciously.  "Like what?"

Fiona smiled.

"There's something we need you to get."

"If it means you'll leave this town and never come back, I'm all ears," said Lacey.  "What do you want?"

Fiona took another sip of tea, licking a droplet from her lower lip as she sat back.

“It starts, as do so many things in life, alas, with a betrayal,” she said.  “The _Blue Star_ had a client named Isaac Heller.  A little man of no consequence, but he did like to gamble.  Made his money defending low-level criminals.”

“Surprised you knew him, if that’s the case,” said Lacey. _Heller. Shit. The guy I saw murdered was called Heller, wasn’t he? Was that him? Shit. Shitshitshit._

“Well, he never would have come to my attention, had it not been for his troublesome wife,” said Fiona. “Another non-entity, but by all accounts a kind woman. Taught music to local children and ran special classes for some of the poorest in town in connection with a local church.  Such a charitable notion. And she was _such_ a good listener.  Became the confidante of her pupils, some of which were children of her husband’s clients. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how they might have earned their money.”

“She was hearing things she shouldn’t,” said Lacey flatly.  “So you had to shut her up, right? I’ve heard this story a hundred times or more, what the hell does it have to do with me?  Do I know this woman?”

“I very much doubt it, she’s been dead for years.”

“And I’m guessing you killed her,” said Lacey.  “Or at least had someone else do it, not like you get your own hands dirty.”

“I’m not responsible for what may or may not have happened to the poor woman.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” said Lacey disgustedly.  “Is there a point to this?”

Fiona rolled her eyes, and took a sip of her iced tea.

“It appears Mrs Heller persuaded some of her students to provide her with evidence.”

“Given that you’re here and not in jail where you belong, she can’t have gotten anything that incriminating.”

“Well, what she _was_ given encouraged her to do her own investigation,” said Fiona.  “Started sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong. Even managed to get one or two of the parents to talk to her.  Very persuasive, she must have been, given the penalties they faced for breaking their silence. A pity we never met, I’m sure she would have been an asset to any business.”

“Spare me the fake regret,” said Lacey, her tone flat.  “She didn’t die of old age.”

“Well, the circumstances of her tragic demise aren’t really relevant to the story,” said Fiona, looking at her fingernails.  “What _is_ relevant is the information she obtained before that happened.  Information which is only ever of value to those who control it.”

Lacey pursed her lips, tapping her fingers on the table.

“You mean evidence that you were keeping to blackmail people,” she guessed, and Fiona shrugged slightly.

“Partly,” she admitted.  “You know how much we value discretion, and what with so many of those involved running for re-election - well, I do so hate to lose a return on an investment."

"If she died years ago I don't see what the problem is," said Lacey.  “Okay, maybe she could have reported what she had to the police, but why would that bother you?  It’s not like you don’t have the cops in your pocket.”

Fiona smiled, taking another sip of tea.

“Oh, not the police, dear,” she said.  “The children had already warned her off that.  No, she was in discussion with a journalist. One of these idealistic types.  Uncovering corruption, taking down big business, fighting for the little guy, _et cetera_...”

“And?”

“And one of her informants got scared and remembered his loyalties.”

Lacey sat back, a twist to her mouth.

“I still don’t see where I come in,” she said bluntly.  “She was gonna spill the beans on your criminal network, you offed her before she could.  So far, so normal. For you.”

“Yes, well, unfortunately she died before she handed over the evidence.”  Fiona sipped at her tea. “Even more unfortunately, it then went missing.”

“Ouch.”  Lacey couldn’t help smirking.  “Must have caused you some sleepless nights, huh?  Really putting a strain on that legitimate business face you try to keep going.  I thought you were looking haggard.”

“The evidence is on a hard drive,” said Fiona, as if she hadn’t spoken.  “It was allegedly taken from her home by a person or persons unknown in what was rumoured to be a break-in, shortly after her death.  The police report doesn’t identify the perpetrators, but I suspect one of the informants who got scared for their own safety, or Heller himself. What _is_ known is that the hard drive made its way to Maine, and into the hands of your grandmother.”

Lacey’s mouth dropped open.

“Grandma?” she said blankly.  “But - but that’s impossible!”

“Is it?”  Fiona sipped at her tea, eyebrows quirking.

“She’s been bed-bound for years!”

“Well, yes and no,” said Fiona slowly.  “You’re aware that she’s been deteriorating, I’m sure, but it’s been a gradual process.  It so happens that this information was passed to her seven years ago, just after Mrs Heller met her tragic end.  You would have been - what? Nineteen?”

“I guess.”

Lacey frowned to herself, remembering that her grandmother had just started to be noticeably frail at that time, although she had tried to cover it as best she could.

“Still very much in her right mind, of course,” said Fiona, eyes gleaming viciously.  “Most of the time, anyway. Lucid enough to know exactly what she had been sent, and how dangerous it could be in the wrong hands.”

“Why the hell would she want to protect you?” asked Lacey bluntly.  “She couldn’t stand you. Any of you. After my mother died, she wanted nothing to do with you!”

“No, she didn’t want anything to do with us,” agreed Fiona.  “She pretended otherwise, of course, but she couldn’t entirely hide it. I was glad when she lost the ability to speak, but those eyes of hers...”

It was all Lacey could do not to launch herself across the table and strangle her.  She dug her thumbnails into the pads of her fingers, hard.

“Anyway, she wasn’t protecting _us_ , silly girl, she was protecting you.”

“Me?”

“Such a well-bred lady, wasn’t she?” purred Fiona, resting her chin on her hand.  “Fine, upstanding, the epitome of good manners. You can imagine how upset she was to receive recordings containing evidence of criminal acts.  Particularly those involving her young granddaughter.”

Lacey felt a cold vein of ice pulse down her spine, her heart thumping.  The ice spread through her, freezing her blood, making her hold her breath, as though to do so would stop time, would let silence wash over them. Fiona kept talking, seemingly oblivious to her distress.

“Of course, given the family history, not to mention the man her daughter Colette had married, she was adept at pretending unsavoury things weren’t happening.  Even when they were going on under her nose.”

The diner seemed to close in around her, the background noise fading until she could hear nothing but her racing heart and Fiona’s words, spoken in a light, unhurried tone, as though it were nothing of importance.  As though she hadn’t broken open the deepest vaults of shame and trauma in her brain and strewn the rotted and broken contents all over.

“Perhaps you don’t remember,” Fiona added sweetly, making Lacey start.  “The mind sometimes forgets things on purpose, I find.”

“I haven’t forgotten _anything_ ,” said Lacey.  Her voice was hoarse, as though dust had dried her throat, choking her.

“Good,” said Fiona lightly.  “So you see, we all have an interest in dealing with this sordid affair.  I understand your grandmother paid a substantial sum to secure the evidence and to ensure that any copies were destroyed, but I really feel we have to deal with what remains, don’t you agree?”

Lacey licked her lips.

“Why should I care?” she said boldly.  “Whatever was on that hard drive, I was a minor.  Good luck trying to make me look like the bad guy in all this.”

“Well, that’s not really the point, is it?” she said sweetly.  “Willing participant or poor little victim, the effect is much the same.  What _would_ your husband say?”

Lacey raised her chin.

“I guess he’d want to kill every one of you,” she said.

“And here I thought you two were estranged.”

Lacey shrugged, adopting a nonchalance she didn’t feel.

“Yeah, well, taking down scumbags is like his favourite thing,” she drawled.  “The fact that there’s a family connection wouldn’t make him any less enthusiastic about it.”

“Well, we’d like to avoid that.”  Fiona’s tone was light. “We need you to get the evidence for us.”

“Get it yourself,” said Lacey, slumping back in the chair and folding her arms.  “How come you didn’t already tear the place apart? Grandma’s not exactly in a position to fight back, is she?”

“And now we come to the part where we need _you_ ,” said Fiona pleasantly, folding her hands on the table. “You can’t imagine the trouble we went to to find out this little piece of information, given her current state of health.  It's taken years of piecing together rumours and whispers from those around her, but we got there in the end.  Rather than destroy the thing like a sensible woman, she apparently placed it in a safe deposit box in your name.”

Lacey blinked.

“Why?” she asked, and Fiona shrugged.

“Perhaps she wanted to give you some control over that part of your life, who knows? Who cares? The point is, it’s in a place that only Isabelle Schwartz can access.”

“I’m Lacey Weaver.”

Fiona shrugged again.

“For now,” she said lazily.  “I daresay that’ll change, hmm?”

Lacey wanted to grind her teeth.

“What I meant was, I have no I.D.”

“I can provide you with I.D.,” said Fiona briskly, sitting back.

“How did you find out about all this, anyway?” asked Lacey suspiciously.

“The dear departed Mr Heller, of course,” said Fiona.  “Gambling debts are a powerful tool. Especially when paired with incriminating evidence of our own.  Everyone has secrets they’d rather the world didn’t know.”

_Including you, and don’t think I don’t know that._

“So you pretty much had his balls in a bolt cutter,” said Lacey, and Fiona smirked.

“Visual as ever, my dear.  You really do have a way with words.  Perhaps going back to school is the right path for you after all.”

Lacey winced at her sneering drawl.  A tide of insecurity rose up through her, the familiar whispering at the back of her mind that had never truly left, telling her she was worthless, stupid, brainless.  She slammed the door in her head, muting the voices, but it was ill-fitting and warped, letting them leak through. She squared her jaw, looking Fiona in the eyes.

“So you put the thumbscrews on Heller,” she said flatly.  “Did he know you offed his wife?”

“I’ve no idea.  If he did he was far too intelligent to let on.”  She drank the last of her iced tea, licking her lips. “Honouring her memory by offering up the information she’d worked so hard to collect, in order to save his miserable soul.  Sad, really.”

“Maybe he figured that since she was already dead, he should look out for himself,” said Lacey dryly.  “Not like you could hurt her anymore, right? Can’t say I blame the guy, I’m pretty confident you terrified him out of his wits.”

Fiona smiled sweetly.

“Such a soft heart,” she said.  “Don’t feel too bad for him, I’m fairly certain he was the one to blackmail your grandmother, though quite how he knew of her existence is another matter we haven’t been able to get to the bottom of.  One of the informants, I presume.”

Lacey glowered at her. _Okay, maybe I’m not that sorry he’s dead._

“Since he wanted to be so helpful,” went on Fiona, “we asked him to obtain the key to the safe deposit box from his contact in Maine, while we tried to trace your whereabouts.  He informed us that he was due to secure the key, but before he could do so, he was accidentally killed by my somewhat - overzealous - assistants.”

“Can’t get the staff,” said Lacey bluntly.  “Contracting-out’s a bitch, huh?”

Fiona ignored the barb.

"We searched his house after the unfortunate incident, but there was no trace of the key," she said.  "We assumed he'd been lying to us about his ability to obtain it, and given that you were nowhere to be found, that there was no harm in leaving the evidence where it was."

"Who was his contact in Maine?" asked Lacey curiously, and Fiona waved a bored hand.

"He died before we could get that information from him.  A client, perhaps?  I've no idea what his background was, or how he ended up in Seattle, and it's a little hard for him to explain himself now, isn't it?"

She smirked, and Lacey bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from snarling.  Fiona took another sip of tea.

“Of course, then your husband got involved,” she said, looking thoughtful.  “I wish I’d known years ago that you were in this town and that _he_ had the key; it could have been a quick hit and i wouldn’t have had all this bother.  Still, what’s done is done.”

Lacey kept her face as expressionless as she could, trying to shove the image of a tiny silver key from her mind, the green sticky note with the code, the piece of paper with the single sentence on it. _The price is paid. What price? Who sent that thing?_

“So you’re saying my husband has the key to this box?” she said flatly.  “Taken from the murder scene?"

"Indeed."

"Then it’ll be in the evidence room.  You have cops on the payroll, you must be able to get it!"

"This isn't Vegas," said Fiona stiffly.  "And besides, discretion is paramount in this case.  We need someone with as much to lose as we have, so that we can be assured of absolute loyalty.  I'm sure you can understand that."

"Doesn't matter," said Lacey, her tone blunt.  "There’s no way I can get that! We’re getting _divorced_ , I can’t just turn up at the precinct and ask him to let me in the bloody evidence room!”

“You’ll have to find a way, won’t you?” said Fiona coldly.  “It’s taken me years to track you down to your current hovel, and you know how I _hate_ for my time to be wasted, dear.”

Lacey laughed hollowly.

“Whatever you’re planning on threatening me with, it couldn’t be any worse than what was already done.”

“Well, that’s a failure of imagination on your part,” said Fiona, her voice cool.  She leaned on the table, eyes boring into Lacey’s. “You know full well that we're more than capable of destroying everyone you ever loved. Your grandmother already has one foot in the next world, that would be easy. Not to mention that interfering shrew of a housekeeper and that ridiculous butler.”

Lacey swallowed hard, heart thudding in her chest.

“And then there’s your husband, of course.”

“Soon to be ex-husband!” she snapped.  “You may as well threaten a stranger! See if I care!”

Fiona smiled slowly, leaning forward a little further.

“Well, perhaps we won’t kill him,” she said softly.  “We’ll just destroy his life. Have him put away for a _very_ long time for something highly unsavoury.  Police never fare well in prison.”

“You’ve got _nothing_ on him!”

“You’ll find our influence reaches very far,” she said.  “I’m willing, able, and _delighted_ to prove you wrong. And then, of course, poor little Matilda Rose will be in need of a new family, won’t she?  You remember how well we looked after _you_ , I’m sure. We’d be happy to do the same for your daughter.”

Lacey shook her head vehemently, cold horror rendering her mute, and Fiona sat back with a smile.

“Of course, none of this will be necessary if you get us what we need,” she said lightly.  Lacey wanted to grind her teeth.

"What's to stop you coming after me again once you get what you want?" she demanded.  "Why the hell should I trust you?"

"Well, I suppose you shouldn't," said Fiona pleasantly.  "We were really hoping you'd see sense and come home.  Your father misses you, and you belong with your family."

Lacey suppressed a shudder.

"I have a family," she said.

"For now," said Fiona, her tone deceptively light.  "Things can change."

Lacey felt rage flare in her, and she glared at Fiona, jaw clenched.

"If you touch my child I'll kill every last one of you!" she hissed, and Fiona shrugged.

"Come home with the present for your father, and there'll be no need for any unpleasantness, will there?"

Lacey shook her head.

"You're asking me to go back to the life I left  _years_ ago!  To - to leave my _child_!"

"I would never ask that!" protested Fiona, hand on heart.  "By all means bring her with you!  I'm sure your father would  _love_ to meet his granddaughter!  That really  _would_ ease some of his concerns about succession, don't you think?  Although I doubt he'd approve of your choice of husband..."

"If you think I'd put Tilly in danger, you're  _insane_!"

Fiona simply smiled at her.

"Then make the right choice," she said.  "For their sake.  Find the key to the safe deposit box, take out the hard drive, and return it to us. Then we can go back to running our business and your daughter will be safe from us.  We’ll even spare the valiant detective, since he means so little to you. I’m so sorry your marriage didn’t work out. No doubt some childhood trauma getting in the way of wedded bliss.”

Lacey sat back, heart humping in her chest, senses heightened, the threats to her family, to the life she had grown to love, looming ominously around her, pressing against her skin and stealing her breath.

“So that’s the deal you want to make?” she said flatly.  “I get you this evidence, and you leave them alone?”

Fiona smiled, showing white teeth.

“You have my word.”

There was a moment of silence, in which the noise of the diner sounded unnaturally loud.  Lacey tried to think of a way out, to protect her family and those she cared about, but every direction she looked in led to nothing but heartbreak, death and trauma.  Just as her life had always been before she made the decision to leave. Before she had become Lacey Weaver. The thought of turning her back on that was agony.

“It’s - it’s not gonna be easy,” she said.  “Like I said, we’re not getting along. It’s gonna take awhile before he trusts me enough to let me near.”

“We’ve waited this long, we can wait a little longer.”

Lacey nodded, and pushed back her chair, standing up.

“Then I guess I’ll be in touch,” she said.  “How do I find you, anyway?”

Fiona rummaged in her bag and dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the table before getting to her feet and putting her hands on Lacey’s shoulders.  Her smile widened.

“Oh, we’ll be keeping an eye on you, don’t you worry.”

Lacey tried to suppress a shiver, and Fiona pulled her into a hug, making her freeze in place.  Fiona’s nose brushed her ear, breath cool against her skin.

“One more thing,” she whispered.  “If you tell anyone about this, or if you’re lying to me in any way, I’ll have poor, dear Detective Weaver shot in the street, do you understand me?”

The ice around her heart froze solid, a hard lump in her chest. Lacey nodded wordlessly.

Fiona kissed her cheek, a cold, wet circle against her skin, and Lacey stood stiffly as she swept out, the diner door closing behind her with a soft thump.

* * *

Weaver checked his phone again, frowning.  Lacey had still not called, and they had been due to meet for lunch half an hour ago.  He had had to order something for Tilly to keep her occupied; they had spent an enjoyable morning at the aquarium, but she had been grumbling about being hungry even before they were done, so he had taken her to the restaurant by the side of the entrance, and texted Lacey to let her know.  He smiled at Tilly as she chewed on a chicken strip, ketchup on her mouth. A large plush octopus with wide eyes and a cheerful, anatomically-improbable grin sat with Dragon on the empty chair beside her.

His phone buzzed, and he picked it up, swiping at the screen.

“Hey,” he said.  “We’re in the restaurant at the aquarium, where are you?”

“Hey,” said Lacey, sounding a little subdued.  “Did you eat?”

“I got Tilly some chicken and fries, but I didn’t eat yet.”

“Okay.”  A moment of silence.  “Listen, would you mind if I met you back home?  I just have a few things I have to do.”

“Uh - sure.”  He frowned a little.  “What’s up?”

“Nothing, just - the college was kind of overwhelming and I think my brain hurts.”

He grinned at that.

“Well, I guess I can understand that,” he said.  “Don’t worry, I can take Tilly to a movie or something.  Why don’t you get home, run a bath, and we’ll order pizza when I get back.”

“God, that sounds _great_.”

“In that case I’ll see you later.”  He hesitated, the words he had wanted to say for so long hanging on the edge of his tongue, wanting to fall off into the air.  He swallowed them down.  “We'll probably be back around five-thirty, six o'clock.  Okay?”

“Yeah.”  More silence.  “Thanks.”

The phone cut off, and he slipped it back into his pocket, shaking his head fondly.  She probably _would_ have found it overwhelming, having not been in school since she was in her early teens.  He believed in her, though. She could do this.

He turned to Tilly, who had finished most of her chicken strips and was drinking her milk.

“Looks like it’s just you and me this afternoon,” he said.  “Shall we go and see a movie?”

“Yeah!” she said, bouncing excitedly in her seat, and he grinned, reaching out to ruffle her curls.

“Finish your milk, and let me wipe your face, then,” he said.  “We’ll get some popcorn, okay?”

She let him wipe ketchup from her face and turned back to her glass of milk, and he found himself grinning like an idiot as she sucked milk through a straw, kicking her legs.  Her conception had been unplanned, waiting for her arrival had been months of internal panic that he had tried his best to hide, but he couldn’t imagine life without her, or without Lacey.  The only thing that could make his life more perfect would be another child, and he wondered if it was time to raise the subject. Lacey had never suggested that they try, but there again he had never told her he wanted to.  Perhaps it was time.

* * *

They arrived back at the apartment at just after six, Tilly yawning as she sat in the crook of his arm.  Weaver struggled to open the door with her in one arm and two stuffed animals under the other, and Lacey eventually came to his rescue, taking Tilly from him and kissing her cheek.

“Bath time for you, I think,” she said.

Weaver let her take Tilly through to the bathroom, and set the plush animals on her bed before going through to the kitchen and pulling a beer from the fridge.  He spied a sheaf of documents on the counter: leaflets from the college and a glossy prospectus. Flicking through it took some time, and he smiled to himself, imagining Lacey getting her diploma, he and Tilly cheering her on.

Once Tilly was in bed, he flopped on the couch next to Lacey, who was slumped against the cushions, hands clasped in her lap as she stared into space.

“You want a glass of wine?” he asked.

“In a minute.”

There was a moment of silence.  It felt as though she had something to say, so he waited for her to speak.

“How was the aquarium?” she asked then, and he grinned.

“Good.  She seemed to enjoy herself.”

“Sorry I bailed on you guys,” she said.  “I - I needed to think about some stuff. There was a lot to take in.”

“Really, it’s fine,” he said.  “Tilly was too entranced by the octopus to care that there was only one of us.  I don’t think she’d have noticed if I’d stayed in the restaurant. Kept running off to ask the staff questions.”

“She’s independent, I guess.”

“Takes after her mother.”

“God, I hope not,” she said, letting her head roll back with a sigh, and it sounded heartfelt.  He leaned over and kissed her forehead, and she stayed very still at the touch of his lips.

“So, you guys had fun?” she said, not looking at him.  “You were okay without me?”

“She was great,” he said.  “She was perfect. Cute as a button.  We’ve done a good job with her, you know, for a couple of first-timers.”

She smiled briefly, and he licked his lips.  Perhaps now was the time.

“She’ll be three soon,” he added.  “I thought - I thought maybe - you know, if you wanted - maybe we could have another.”

“Another?” said Lacey, frowning, and he hesitated.

“Another baby.”

He wasn’t sure what reaction he had expected her to have, but staring at him as though he had just grown a second head wasn’t it.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Of course not,” he said.  “It’s gone pretty well, hasn’t it?  I mean - I mean we make a good team, right?  I thought it might be nice for Tilly to have a brother or sister.”

She was still staring at him, and he hesitated, unsure whether to add what had been lurking in his mind for some time.

“And - and honestly,” he said, “I’d like another child.  I’d _love_ another child with you.”

“And you think _now_ is the right time?” she demanded.  “Are you out of your mind?”

“I’m serious!” he protested.  “Why is that so surprising? I - I thought you might like the idea, too.”

“So, all that talk about me going back to school was a load of crap, then?”

“What?”  He shook his head.  “No! Of course we can wait until you’re ready, I didn’t mean—”

“And what if I’m never ready?” she asked, and he held up his hands, trying for a soothing, patient manner.

“I - I just thought we could talk about it, that’s all.”

She shook her head, pushing up from the couch.

“I can’t deal with this right now,” she muttered, stomping off.

“Lacey, wait!”

He almost jumped to his feet, following her into the kitchen, and she froze in place, shoulders stiff, an emotion he couldn’t identify radiating from her, coming off her in waves.  It was almost as though she was scared.

“I’m sorry,” he said.  “I - I guess that was kind of out of the blue.  We don’t have to talk about it now.”

“But you want to talk about it.”  Her voice was soft, but flat. Dead.  “You want - you want to make a family with me.”

“I already _have_ a family with you,” he said, confused by her reaction.  “ _We’re_ a family, Lacey.  I think we’ve been a family since you bloody moved in with me, since before we were even together.  I just - I just thought maybe it could grow. Just a little.”

She was silent for a moment, and her shoulders rose and dropped, a heavy sigh escaping her.

“You’re a good man,” she whispered, her voice barely loud enough for him to hear.

“I’ll remind you of that the next time I forget to buy that wine you like,” he said, trying to make light of the very strange atmosphere that had descended.  Lacey’s head dipped a little, her shoulders hunching, but then she turned slowly on her toes to face him. Her eyes were a little too bright, her lower lip trembling.

“You’re right,” she said, with a wan smile.  “We don’t have to talk about it now. Sorry if I freaked out.”

“That’s okay,” he said.  “I guess it was a surprise.  I’ll give you some warning next time.”

She nodded, arms slowly crossing to cover her belly protectively, her fingers plucking restlessly at the fabric of her dress.

“Right,” he said.  “You still want pizza?”

“Extra jalapenos.”

“I’ll call it in.”

“Then I guess I’ll open the wine.”

She turned away from him, reaching for the cupboard where the glasses were kept, and he eyed her for a moment, a tingle of anxiety stealing through him.  Shaking his head, he went to order the pizza. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps she needed time.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Things Left Unsaid - Podfic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19005397) by [iatethebiscuit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iatethebiscuit/pseuds/iatethebiscuit)




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